The Long and Winding Road
by Dr. Emma Hamish Winchester
Summary: Pre-series, starting with the fire. I plan to go through to Jensen's entrance in episode one. Child!chesters, eventual Teen!chesters, John, Bobby, lots of others. Please Read and Review! Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1: In the Beginning

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for reading. Extra thank you if you read my other fic, The Strange Case of Sam Winchester. I love you guys! Anyway, I promise this will not be entirely depressing. After all, Sam and Dean as kids! Yay! Anyway, I promise to update often, and I want you guys to promise to give me lots of reviews and stuff. Do we have a deal? Good!

I do not own Supernatural or it's characters. If there is a background character I invented that you like and want back after it's departure, let me know and maybe I'll give them more time. *Wink. Review. PM. Wink.*

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

John sat on the roof of his Impala, trying not to look at the flames shooting into the sky. He couldn't. If he did then he would have to remember who was still in that house, and if he thought about that... well, he knew he would have to go in after her. That would do nothing but kill him. All he could do was hold onto Sam as hard as he possibly could, because if he was holding the baby, he couldn't go in after Mary. His numbed mind barely regestered four-year-old Dean standing beside him. He just kept playing the scene over in his mind. He couldn't even manage to cry, because he was still in shock. He only knew one thing for certain, there was no way Mary got stuck to the ceiling, bleeding and on fire, by herself. Something must have put her there, and it was enjoying it's last days on earth.

* * *

John didn't go back to work for a while. No one would let him. They said he needed to rest or something stupid like that. They didn't understand, he needed work. Some chance to take his mind off the pain and distract himself for a while. Still, it gave him time to think, to plan. Mary's parents had been- something. He couldn't quite remember. He could remember her telling him. They were in the car, and he was frightened and angry, and for some reason it was important. If only he could remember! It was very frustrating.  
Dean didn't do much. He liked to climb into Sam's crib and lie there, holding him tightly. He didn't talk anymore, and sometimes John caught him staring out into space, as though reliving a memory. John missed him running around, shouting so that he could be heard down the block. He would have been worried about the kid if he hadn't been so busy. He had been doing research, checking periodicals from the library, trying to find the pieces his memory was for some reason refusing to relinquish. Mary's parents, that was the key. Something about Mary's story of their deaths didn't add up. Dean tugged on his pants leg and he looked down, "Hey, buddy. What is it?" He tried to keep his voice as warm and soft as possible. After all, if Dean talked it would be the first time in weeks, come to think of it, the first time since the fire. "Where's Mommy?" He whimpered. John's throught clutched and his voice broke, "She's gone, Dean. She's not coming back." He looked confused, "But, why wouldn't Mommy come back?" He hung his head and whispered, "Is she mad at me?"  
"No. No, she's- she's not mad at you. Look, um, Daddy's kind of busy. Why don't you go watch cartoons or something." He went back to his work, reviewing notes he had taken from periodicals, and didn't notice when Dean watched him for a few seconds, a quizzical look on his face, before sniffling and turning away. He didn't understand, why was Daddy shutting him out? It was okay, he thought to himself, Mommy would be back soon, and everything would be good again, Daddy would smile and laugh and play with him like he used to, and he and Mommy would go to the zoo. After all, she had promised. She wouldn't break a promise.

He wandered into the second bedroom, his and Sam's in this ugly apartment, and walked up to the crib. Sam was waking up, crying, like he usually did these days. Dean climbed in with him, making soothing noises as best he knew how, and curled up around him. Sam quieted and Dean started to drift off to sleep. As his eyes closed he remembered what his mother used to say at night and whispered, "It's okay Sammy, don't cry. Angels are watching over you."

John stared at the paper in his hands. A stab wound? But that meant- Why had Mary told him her father died of a heart attack? He tried to think back to that night, to exactly what happened. He had taken her down to the old bridge and proposed. And then- and then her father showed up, furious. Mary had argued with him, and John tried to get between them, and- it was all rather fuzzy after that. The next thing he remembered... he was lying in Mary's arms? Was that it? But that didn't make sense. He buried his head in his hands and cursed, why was everything so jumbled? What was wrong with him?  
His gaze fell on the open phone book in the corner of his desk, and an idea occured to him, a crazy idea, but he was desperate. He pulled it to him and started to flip through the pages.

* * *

What am I doing here? He thought, staring at the ramshakle house in front of him. Oh well, he was here, he might as well go inside. He turned around and looked at Sam and Dean in the backseat. He spoke, "Okay, Dean, listen to me. I'm going to go see someone. I need you to sit in the waiting room with your brother, and keep him quiet. Can you do that?" Dean stared at him, wide eyed, then nodded. John smiled, "Good boy," and he got out and unbuckled them from their child seats.

"John Winchester?" He looked up into the eyes of a young black woman. She was standing in front of the bead-strand doorway with a welcoming expression. John handed Sam off to Dean and stood up awkwardly. He slowly walked through the doorway, and stood transfixed. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. A clean, neat, fairly ordinary room with a table and two sofas lay out before him. The woman motioned him toward one, and she herself took the other. He shifted nervously in his seat. This sort of thing wasn't real. What was he doing here? He should just walk out. Instead he said, "Are you Missouri?"  
She smiled reassuringly, "Yes I am. I'm sorry, John, I know how reluctant you were to come to me."  
"And you're a..."  
"Yes. But you didn't come to ask me that. You wanted to know about your wife. About the thing that killed her."  
He looked up, suprised. He had come in on a whim, he hadn't told her any of that, "Yeah...yeah I did. Um, how did you...?"  
"Honey, there's a reason I'm called a psychic."  
"Right. Sorry, I- I don't really do this sort of thing." Her smile widened, "I can see that, and I understand if you're sceptical. There are so many frauds out there. I can assure you, I am the ginuine article. Now, let's get started."

Dean had been sitting for about ten minutes before Sam's face scrunched up and he began to whimper, a few tears starting to make their way down his cheeks. Dean rocked him gently in his arms, quietly shushing him. Daddy had told him to keep the baby quiet, and he was determined not to disappoint him. Sam was going to stay quiet wiether he wanted to or not. Dean would see to that. Unfortunately, his brother had other plans. Dean stared in horror as Sam let out a loud wail and began to cry in earnist. He shushed him louder, hoping for some sort of results, and started to panic when there was no effect. Sam's face was red and his cheeks were wet with tears as he bawled. Dean glanced around him, desperately searching for something to calm the infant, to no avail. An image of Daddy's frowning face filled his mind. If only Sam would be quiet! Finally his mind grasped hold of something, a memory of his mother, standing over his bed, singing. Softly, he started to sing along with her, "Hey Jude/don't make it bad/take a sad song, and make it better/remember to let her into your heart/then you can start, to make it better..." Dean sang the entire song, and slowly Sam's cries stopped, until he was lying quietly in Dean's arms, gurgling happily. Now, however, it was Dean who cried, silently, tears rolling down his cheeks as he sang. Why hadn't Mommy come back? Why had she left in the first place? Daddy's voice echoed in his head, "She's gone, Dean. She's not coming back." Dean sat, sniveling, in the cold waiting room, holding tightly to the only source of comfort that seemed willing to give him attention.


	2. Chapter 2: Calvin and Moose

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for reading my fic. Wow. I can't believe how much traffic this has gotten! And the follows and favs! You people are amazing!  
CatstielWinchespurr: Thank you for your review. You're the first, so, congratulations! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm writing chapters as we speak, so look out for more! I love your username, by the way. :)

I do not own Supernatural or it's characters.

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

John returned to the waiting room a short time later, too emotionally drained to notice his children's misery, or, indeed, give more than a passing, "Good job, Dean. Let's go to the car." He also had too much on his mind. He had already arranged another appointment with Missouri, and she had given him her number in case he needed to call her. Still, it had been a month since the fire, they were running out of money, and he could no longer afford to give Mary's murder his undivided attention. He returned to work, tolerating the stares of his coworkers as best he could, along with the obligatory, "I'm sorry, John, my condolences." that seemed to come from every quarter. He wanted to tell them to shut up, to let him pretend that everything was normal. He couldn't, of course, but it didn't make the wanting any less. So instead he took his frustration out on the cars he was supposed to repair, channeling his anger into doing the best possible job. His arms ached from the exertion, and he was glad of it. It took his mind off other things.

* * *

Meanwhile, he had arranged for a babysitter to watch the kids while he was at work. Dean sized her up as he heard Daddy start downstairs. She was a skinny 17-year-old blond, trying to earn some extra pocket money for christmas presents, and maybe a perm. Her hair was going flat, and her parents refused to pay for any more perms. Dean decided instantly that he hated her. He glared as she knelt down to his level, "Hi, Dean, I'm Cindy. I think we're going to be great friends." The expression on Dean's face seggested decidedly otherwise. If looks could kill, Cindy would have been a small pile of ash on the carpet. She got back up, "Okay, so your dad said your brother's right in the next room. Why don't we go and see him?" She glaced at the paper in her hands, "It's almost time for his morning feeding anyway." Dean followed her towards the bedroom, unwilling to let the intruder out of his sight. She didn't even know anything, there wasn't a schedule. Sam ate when he was hungry, any idiot knew that. He watched her suspitiously as she leaned over Sam's crib, "Oh, aren't you just the most precious little thing!" Sam giggled happily, waving his arms and legs, and she gasped, reaching in to pick him up.  
Dean decided enouph was enouph. He would put up with a lot, but the idea of this STRANGER holding Sam was too much to bear.  
Cindy yelped as a small foot connected with her shin. She turned away from the crib, narrowing her eyes at the demonic, shaggy-haired cherub that was currently grinning up at her, looking quite pleased with himself. Sam giggled again. This did nothing to improve her mood. "Dean, did you just kick me?" she said, her voice full of icy menace. Dean nodded, the grin remaining intact.  
"Do you know what happens to little boys who kick their babysitters?" Dean shook his head, still grinning.  
"Well, I'll tell you. They get to sit quietly in the corner until their dad gets home, then the babysitter tells him all about his rotten kid." She started toward him and he screamed gleefully, turning and running away as fast as his short legs would carry him, somehow rapidly vanishing in the small apartment. Cindy stood for a second, staring after him, then turned back to the crib, where the seven-month-old had stopped smiling and was starting to fuss. She checked him over and soon located the source of the distress. She looked over the list of instructions, "Okay, so diapers are under the sink." She sighed and picked him up, "Well, Sammy, let's go get you fixed up. I guess I might as well feed you while I'm at it." Dean watched her from his hiding place. He hated her messing with Sam, but given her threats, he decided to just watch from a safe distance. Anger boiled within him. Why did Daddy allow this imposter into the house? Mommy was supposed to be there, chattering to him as she went about her chores, not some ugly, other woman that he didn't like. The problem was, he had started to concider what Daddy had said, that Mommy might not come back, so it was possible that this... person... might be staying.

A few hours later, Cindy was starting to get worried. The elder Winchester brother still hadn't shown his face. She started to look for him. After all, how many places could there be to hide in a small apartment?  
She found him, eventually, hiding under his dad's bed. She drew in a breath to yell at him, when she noticed the tears on his cheeks. She couldn't stay mad at him, not looking like this. Her heart melted and she pulled him from under the bed and into a hug. He stiffened, then sank into the embrace, tears rolling liberally down his face, to miserable to protest, "W-why did Mommy hafta go away?" She held him, shhhing soothingly, "It was g-good. And now, Daddy doesn't even like me." She rubbed his back, "Of course your Daddy likes you."  
"Then why doesn't he talk to me? He just- he just sits at the table, and sometimes he goes away." He paused, choking a little, "What if he doesn't come back? What if he goes away for good like Mommy? What are me and Sammy gonna do?" She squeezed him tight, unsure what to say. The poor kid seemed so lost. From what he said, it seemed his dad had been far too wrapped up in his own grief to concider how his kids might be affected, or even to talk to them about what had happened. What a jerk. Dean was clinging to her, sobbing into her shoulder like he had never been hugged before. It suddunly occured to her that he might not have since his mom's death. Right then she wished John Winchester was standing in front of her. She wanted to punch him for the way he had treated these boys. His sobs started to die down into hiccups and she held him away from herself to look him in the eye, "Here. I'll tell you what. How about we go into the kitchen, and I make you some lunch. I'm not much of a cook, but I can make a PB&J." Dean stared at her, wide-eyed, and whispered, "Really?" His wonder at her offer confused her until, "Mommy used to make me PB&J." She smiled sadly, poor kid, "Would you like me to make you one? You can talk if you want to, tell me about your mom." He tilted his head, concidering her offer, "Ummm, okay. But you hafta cut the crusts off. Mommy always cut the crusts off." She laughed a little, picking him up and settling him on her hip, "Okay. PB&J it is, then." She bounced him lightly, "Wow, you're heavy!" He giggled, and they made their way to the kitchen, where Cindy made lunch while Dean followed her around, regaling her with stories. Then they watched some TV. Cindy sprawled out on the couch and Dean curled into her midsection, holding Sam like a security blanket. He had refused to do anything without him. The teenager smiled down at the pair. They were such great kids once you got to know them, even Dean. You just had to get on his good side. She looked back at the screen, and so they passed a pleasent afternoon.

* * *

That pleasent afternoon was followed by many others, and Dean came to look forward to her daily appearance. Christmas was rapidly approaching, and today they were visiting a Christmas tree farm. Cindy walked among the trees, pushing Sam in his stroller, while Dean dashed all over the place, never lighting in one spot for long. "Sissy! Sissy!" he yelled from somewhere on the property. The girl smiled. Dean hadn't quite managed to get her name right, and she hadn't bothered to correct him. As an only child, she found the mispronunciation rather sweet. She called back, "Where are you, Dean? I can't see you." She heard her nickname again, followed by, "I've found it! The perfect tree! Over here! Sissy!" She followed his voice and finally found him, jumping up and down excitedly beside a massive conifer. Her eyebrows went up, "I'm not sure that'll fit in the car, or the apartment." Dean pouted, "But it's perfect." Sam smiled, squealed, and kicked his legs as though in agreement. Cindy started away from it, "Come on, I'll bet we can find a tree that's perfect and fits in you guys's front room." Dean gazed up at his tree mournfully, then followed her, dragging his feet. He soon forgot it, however, and when they found another tree, one small enouph and within their price range, he was just as excited, shouting his glee as he tried to help Cindy move it to the car.


	3. Chapter 3: Damn Idjits

A/N: Thanks for reading! And more follows! You people are amazing! pianobookworm18: I KNOW, RIGHT? I'm glad you like it. Stay tuned! CatstielWinchespurr: Thank you. I really appreciate repeated reviews because they give me a clearer idea of how I'm doing. I know, they're sad so often, it's nice to go back and remember when they were happy(ish). :)

I do not own Supernatural or its characters

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

To Dean's delight, John was home for Christmas. Of course, the detail that it was a Sunday made the decision easier. Dean woke him at the crack of dawn, running through the house yelling, "IT'S CHRIIIISTMAAAS!" so loudly that their neighbors banged on the ceiling and floors, and Sam woke up crying. John stuffed a pillow over his head. He was exhausted from doing research the night before, and was in no mood to humour an over-energetic four-year-old, "Shut up Dean!" He shouted, to tired to bother softening his words. The noise abruptly ended. Apart from Sam's wails of distress, silence reigned. Soon even that stopped, Dean climbing into his crib to soothe him. John sighed, settling back to sleep.

He got up much later and made his way into the kitchen, yawning. There he found Dean, sitting at the table, smiling, his dishes on the counter by the sink. John didn't even want to know how he had gotten them there. He grunted his approval at Dean, then went to the fridge to get himself some breakfast. He paused as he remembered something, "Did you take care of Sam?" His son nodded furiously, "Good." He got out the supplies for a sandwich and moved toward the counter, smiling as he saw the empty bottle beside Dean's dishes. So he really had dealt with the baby.  
Dean hopped off his chair and walked over to his father, "Can we open presents now?" he asked, giving John his best puppy dog face. John sighed, he couldn't say no to that, "Okay..."  
Dean's face lit up, and he ran toward the tree, "Daddy, go get Sam. He needs to be here. There's a tree and everything! Sissy and I picked it out." He continued to babble as John sighed and went to collect the sleeping Sam. All he could think of was past Christmases, and how Mary should be at this one. He picked up Sam, who did not wake up, merely curled into his shoulder and gripped John's shirt in his sleep.  
They sat around the tree, Dean grabbing presents and handing them to John, who would read the label for him. Sam sat off to one side, watching the proceedings with fasination as he played with his toes. Dean excitedly unwrapped a stuffed animal, and Sam dropped his foot, instead reaching for it and cooing pleadingly. Dean held it out to him, "You like that, huh? Come on, you can get it. Come on Sammy." He placed the toy in the baby's arms and Sam clutched it to his chest, gurgling happily as he bubbled spit onto its fur. John smiled despite himself. It was certainly a lovely scene, the children sitting there in their pajamas ripping wrapping paper off presents and exclaming over their contents. Cindy had even left gifts on her last visit, as they discovered when they found them. John commented that she really didn't have to do that, and Dean had better thank her when he saw her next. Dean nodded, only half paying attention. He was much more interested in the matchbox cars set Cindy's package had contained, leaning down with his head to the floor to race them about, making engine noises with his mouth.  
The phone rang and John heaved himself up, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the receiver off the wall, "Hello?"  
Missouri's voice came through the other end of the line, "Hello, John? It's Missouri. Look, you know how we were talking the other day, and I said there wasn't any more I could do for you here?" He rubbed a hand through his hair, sighing into the phone, "Yeah. You said you'd get me some information. Some friend of yours."  
"That I did. You got a pen?" He grabbed a pen and paper, hurredly taking down the address she dictated, "What about a phone number?"  
"I could give you one, but it wouldn't do you no good."  
John was confused, "Why not?"  
"Oh, he doesn't like strangers on the phone. I'll call ahead to let him know you're coming, and you just tell him your name when you get there."  
"Okay. Thanks Missouri, you've been a great help."  
"You take care of yourself now."

* * *

He stayed in Lawrence for a couple more weeks, as 1983 ended and 1984 began. Every day he got out the slip of paper and studied it, wrestling with his decision. Finally he called Dean. His son left off playing with Sam and walked over to him, "Daddy? What is it?" He looked down at him, "Hey, sport. Um, we're going to go out of town for the weekend. I need to know I can rely on you if I need help. Can I?" Dean stared at him. Didn't he help already? Daddy didn't need to ask that. He nodded, "Yes Daddy, I can do it. I'm almost five, remember?" John chuckled and ruffled his son's shaggy hair, "Yeah, Dean. I remember. You're getting to be a big boy." Dean puffed out his chest proudly and strutted off, glowing at the complement. John walked to his bedroom and started packing, concidering what needed to be done. He didn't need to leave word at the body shop, he wouldn't be gone long enouph. He didn't need to make arrangments for the apartment... basically, they just needed to pack their things and go.

* * *

John barely looked at the paper in his hands as he drove into the small town, having already memorized the address in the time he had agonized over wiether to come. They had left early, two in the morning, and driven all day across several states, he could see his kids slumbering in the backseat. He smiled. They were such beautiful children, they reminded him of Mary. He glanced at the map, spread in the passenger seat. If he was right about his location... He turned down a sidestreet ten minutes out of town, and was soon rewarded with a view of a house. It was somewhat run down, in the way of many rural houses, and rusted out old cars were strewn about the property willy-nilly, as though tossed by some massive child in play. He got out of the car and approached the house with caution. He wasn't sure how much he trusted this friend of Missouri's, even more so given the shady look of the place. He knocked on the door.  
A man, perhaps John's age, though a little shorter answered it. He glanced over John suspitiously, and barked a surly, "Who the hell are you? Look, whatever you're selling, I'm not buying." John stopped him as he started to close the door, "Hey, um, are you a friend of Missouri Moseley, down in Lawrence?"  
"Maybe. Who's asking?"  
"John Winchester. Missouri said she would tell you I was coming...?" The man sighed, "Yeah, she did. Come on in. Sorry, I'm not too trustful of strangers." John motioned for Dean to get out of the car and come inside, then stepped through the doorway, belatedly noting, as he did so, the shotgun the man was holding. The man held out his hand in offer of a handshake, "I don't suppose she happened to mintion my name. Robert Singer, nice to meet you, though most people just call me Bobby." John accepted his proffered hand, "Good to meet you, Bobby." Right then Dean shoved his way through the door, Sam and some of the luggage in tow. He paused, unsure what to do with the stranger standing in his path. Bobby looked down in suprise, "Now who are you?" Dean gazed up at him, eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. John spoke, "Dean, go with Uncle Bobby. He'll show you where you and Sam can sleep." Bobby glanced at him. "Oh, so it's Uncle Bobby now," he teased. He looked back down at the small child in front of him, holding a baby and buried under duffles. He was impressed by this boy, with his old eyes and grave face, so unchildlike. He sighed, "Well, come on then." He took the duffles from Dean, and reached to relieve him of the infant. Dean glared and held Sam out of reach. Bobby withdrew, smiling slightly, and led them upstairs. If the kid didn't want to trust him, that was his buisness.

* * *

He settled Sam and Dean in a spare room, asleep, then came back downstairs. John stood in his living room, staring out the bay window. Bobby walked up to him and held out a bottle, "Beer?" John took it, then sat down on the couch, the other man moving a chair away from his desk and using that. Bobby spoke, "So, John, I hear you want to be a hunter." John nodded, opened the bottle and took a swig. He wanted to know more about this Bobby, "Yeah. So, um, how long have you been doing this?"  
"Pretty near five years now, I guess."  
"How'd you get started?" The man looked away, a far off look in his eyes, "We all got into this somehow." Something about the way he said it made John decide not to press the issue. Bobby continued, "Those are some good kids you have up there."  
"Yeah, Dean's been a big help. You saw him get those bags, he didn't have to do that. I don't know what I'd do without him, frankly."  
"How old are they?"  
"Um, Sam's eight months. Dean'll be five on the twenty-fourth."  
"Where's their mother?" It was John's turn to study the floor. Bobby nodded, "I'm sorry. That's tough. Um, John, have you ever known any hunters?"  
He looked up, "Yeah. My wife was one. Raised into it."  
"And what did she tell you about it?"  
"Not much. Just that she hated it, that she married me to get away from it... Can't really remember what else."  
"Smart girl. Now let me give you some advice. You take those boys of yours, you go back to Lawrence, and you never think about hunting again."  
"What?"  
"You heard me. You leave here, and you run, just as fast as you can."  
John shook his head in bewilderment, inching forward on the couch, "I can't do that! They killed Mary! I'm just supposed to let that pass?"  
"Yes! You are, because that's what parenting means. It mean sacrificing your stupid, selfish decisions for your kids, so that they can have good, normal, apple-pie lives. So that they can be happy, with a future. You know what hunting is? It's a poison. It won't make you feel better, vengence never does. If you start hunting, you will ruin your life, you will ruin the lives of your kids, and it's a million to one against you catching the thing that killed her. I should know." He paused, "Just, please, listen to your damn wife, ya idjit." Bobby pleaded with him, hoping desperately to keep him from making the same mistake he had, especially since John had kids. He knew how John felt, and he was fairly certain he wouldn't listen, but it didn't mean he couldn't try. "Look, I'm not planning on doing this full-time anyway. I'll live in Lawrence, and if I get a lead on Mary's killer, I'll take off work for a few days." Bobby shook his head, "You don't seem to understand. Hunting isn't a hobby, something you can pick up and drop as it suits you. It's a lifestyle, a calling. Once you start, there's no going back." John stared at him, then nodded, "Okay."  
"'Okay?' That's it?"  
"Yeah, okay. If catching this thing means I have to leave my life behind, then sure, I'll do it."  
Bobby sighed, "You're a stubborn bastard, you know that? Whatever. We can start in the morning." John stared after him as he started out of the room, "Why did Missouri send me to you? There have to be hunters that get started without help."  
"Yeah, dead ones." Bobby snarked John grinned, "She wanted you to talk me out of it, didn't she."  
"Yep. Good night, John. Your room's the first on the left, top of the stairs. Your stuff's already there. See you in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! Thank you everyone who followed and faved. I feel so loved! kasey123: Thank you! I will try to satisfy your need. Hope I don't disappoint! maxfan28535: I plan to. I very much enjoy writing this. In the show we see the result of these emotional journeys, but we don't get to see what brought the characters to that point. Filling in backstory to the best of my ability is something I love doing. I'm glad you like it.

I do not own Supernatural or it's characters

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

Bobby walked downstairs the next morning to find it had snowed again during the night, dumping another six inches on the already snow-covered ground. He grumbled to himself and started toward the kitchen. One of these days, he was going to have to move out of South Dakota. He needed to go to the store, and three people had just been placed on his well-stretched food supply. He wasn't going anywhere, though, not with the condition of the roads. He glared at the almost-empty fridge. He heard a noise, and turned around to find Dean eyeing him from behind the doorway. Bobby spoke, "Hey Dean. What are you doing up?" Dean edged his way into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the man, moved a chair over to the counter, and grabbed the bottle and formula from where John had placed it the night before. Then he fled. Bobby went back to studying the fridge, chuckling slightly, "I'm not the enemy, kid."

Dean was still unsure of the scary man. Mommy had told him not to trust strangers, and this man was stranger then most. Why was he taking so much interest in him and his brother? He found that highly suspitious. Daddy didn't pay nearly as much attention to him as this man. Still, he was nice... He concidered the problem as he mixed up the formula and helped Sam with it. Uncle Bobby, that was his name. Oh well, until he came to a conclusion, he would avoid him, and keep him away from Sam. That was the only thing to do.

* * *

"Salt. Salt?!" John was incredulous.  
"Yep. Useful against ghosts, demons and a hell of a lot more."  
"And what do you use against werewolves? Parsley?"  
"Silver." John stared at him, then stood up and started to pace, "This is insane. Killing monsters with condiments and jewelry."  
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to be a hunter."  
"You mintioned demons?"  
"Yeah. I wouldn't worry too much about it though. They're really rare, we only hear about maybe three a year. You're safe."  
John rubbed his hands through his hair, "My God. Hey, if demons exist, what about angels? If there's a hell there's got to be a heaven, right?"  
Bobby shrugged, "No one's ever seen one. I don't think they're real. Anyway, you want to hunt monsters? I have a case. Vengeful spirit, I think. Wanna come?"  
"Really?"  
"Yep. You have a brain and you can shoot, good enouph for me."  
"Sure!" "Okay. We leave as soon as they clear the roads." Privately Bobby was hoping John would get whatever romantic notions he was having about hunting out of his head, decide he hated it, and go back home. Maybe expirience would work where words did not.

* * *

John went upstairs to check on the kids, to find Dean packing, "What are you doing, buddy?"  
The boy paused in the middle of putting a shirt in his duffle, "We hafta get back. Sissy and me are taking Sam to the park. He's never been." John cursed. Why did Dean have to get so attached to the girl? He had known he would have to explain to Dean eventually, but he hadn't planned on it coming quite so soon. He took the shirt out of his son's hands and settled him on the bed, sitting down awkwardly next to him, "Um, Dean. Uh, we aren't going back to Lawrence." Dean straightened in shock, "But we hafta! All our stuff's there... Sissy, she doesn't know where I am! I need to say goodbye! You said we were leaving for a couple of days!" John sighed, "Circumstances changed. Don't you like it here? I thought you hated me going off to work. Now I'm not." Dean sniffled, "But what about Sissy? I hafta say goodbye. She's my sister." John was getting sick of this, "She's a girl I hired to look after you while I was at work. Cindy isn't, and never was, your sister. She's probably forgotten about you already." He started toward the door, assuming the conversation was over.  
"She wouldn't! She's family! She loves me!" John paused, one hand on the doorframe, "Family means blood, Dean. She's not your blood. It's time you understood that."  
He walked out, and Dean burst into tears. What was he going to do? He looked over at the laundry basket currently serving as Sam's crib. Daddy was wrong, he had to be wrong. Sissy loved them both. She had been so kind, helping him with Sam, helping him cope with his pain, everything. Why would she do that if she didn't care about him? She had promised she would always be there for him.  
A Presence in the corner watched the crying boy curiously. These humans were so strange, so seceptible to sin and cruelty, and so capable of great kindness and sacrifice. A walking contradiction, an angel and a demon in the same soul, and this boy's soul burned so brightly. Well, he supposed it made sense that it would, he was the Michael Sword, after all. He felt sorry for the child, losing everything he cared about, again, and wondered if it would be crowding his orders too closely to comfort him in a dream. He balked, shocked at himself. He knew his orders: watch the vessels, and if anything major occured, such as death, alert his superior. Such a thought, an inclination, as to make himself known, even in a dream the boy would dismiss, was and had to be sinful. He mentally shuddered at what he had concidered; it was dangerously close to disobedience. Castiel focused back on his task, determined never to think that way again.

* * *

Bobby came back downstairs to find John sitting on the couch, drinking. He walked over to him, "Well, I hope you're satisfied. I just saw Dean. He's sitting up there, sobbing. Saw me and closed the door. What the hell did you do?"  
John took another swig, "I told him we're not going home."  
"And that made him hysterical?"  
"He's ridiculously attached to his babysitter. He wanted to go see her."  
Bobby shook his head, "Balls, John! You must be some kind of messed up in the head. Your boy's up there, in tears, and you're down here drinking my booze. What the hell is wrong with you?"  
"My wife was killed two months ago. That's what's wrong with me."  
Bobby stared at him, frustrated, "Well boohoo, Princess! Mary's dead, you're not. In case you haven't noticed, you still have a family, and they're falling apart. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself, and HELP. YOUR SON!"  
"Dean's tough. He can take care of himself."  
"He's four!"  
"Five next week."  
"Oh, yeah. 'Cause that makes him such a man."  
"We all have to grow up sometime. You know what, if you're such an expert, why don't you go deal with him?" Bobby fumed. He's your kid, he thought. Still, nothing would be accomplished by fighting with John, "All right, fine, whatever. You want to hear about this job?"  
"That's why I'm here." Bobby walked over to the desk. He took a few newspapers from the top of a large stack teetering on the corner, and handed it to John, "Well, here it is. Three people dead, same family, same stretch of road. One a year, for three years."  
John nodded, "That's weird. What do we do next?"  
"Next, we wait for the DoT to get their asses in gear and clear the roads, then we go down and check out the town. Look at the periodicals and microtape, see who's died bloody on that road. Get a list, start checking who has a connection to that family."  
"Isn't there anything else we can do from here?" Bobby took a portion of the stack on his desk, and dumped it in John's lap, "Yep, there is. Get reading. You find anything in any of them, give me a shout."

They worked for hours, looking through newspaper after newspaper. Every so often, John would see something strange and call the other man over. Usually, Bobby would dismiss it as normal, and every so often he would make a note on a clipboard he kept on the wall, muttering something about finding somebody to deal with it. So far they had found nothing on the case at hand.  
John threw down the paper he was reading in frustration, "There's nothing here! We're wasting our time." Bobby glanced at him, lowering his open paper, "It's called 'research', and it's about ninty percent of hunting. You want to do this, you're gonna have to learn some patience, 'cause if you go in half-cocked, you're going to get yourself killed. You can't handle it, go back to Lawrence and get some grief conseling." John grumbled, picking up his discarded paper.

* * *

Mary focused on a tool one of the builders had left behind. She could do this. After all, how many times had she and her father gotten beaten up by ghosts? If they could throw her across a room, she could move a hammer. She focused harder. Come on, you really said no to the reaper for this? To be a useless piece of fog? Yellow Eyes got to Sam, and she had walked right in. It was her fault. How could she have forgotten it was the ten year due date on that stupid deal? She should have known. She should have guessed. She should have had salt, iron, and devil's traps at every entrance. Instead she forgot. Whatever. She couldn't fix it now. All she could do was learn as much as she could about her new condition. Whatever that demon had planned for her son, she couldn't let it happen. She couldn't let him win. Not only that, knowing John, he was planning to do something stupid, and one of these days her family's lives might depend on what she did now. Come on, move! It finally shifted a couple of inches, and she smiled, relaxing in exhaustion. She never would have thought fog could get tired. Oh well, she could work some more later. She gasped as a memory came to the surface. She was having dinner with her parents, and a visitor. Dean Van Halen, that was his name. Or was it? She wasn't sure. He was a hunter, she knew that much, and her father didn't like him. She frowned, where had that come from? She didn't remember that. In fact, thinking about it, she had several new memories, and more were coming at an increasingly rapid pace. How could she have forgotten this stuff? Anyway, it didn't matter. If John was going to do what she thought he was going to do, someday he might come back, and on that day she needed to be ready.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you all my lovely readers, especially the ones who took the time, and liked this enouph to follow. You guys are amazing! CatstielWinchespurr: Thank you! That is some high praise! I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far. Thank you for your repeated reviews, I very much appreciate them. Here is chapter 5. :)

To any Sherlockians, or others who can figure it out: I have hidden a bit of an in-joke in this chapter. See if you can find it. I love you people!

Note: I introduced Castiel last chapter. Any angels in this fic, unless specifically noted otherwise, are in their natural state, without vessels. Just thought I'd mention in case there was any confusion.

I have a request to make. If anyone thinks of any canon backstory, told after season five, either in flashbacks, or one-liners, please PM me, as I have not seen past that point, and I am determined to keep this true to canon. Similarly, if I ever get anything wrong, including a line from a flashback scene or someone being OOC, please let me know so I can fix it. I will also take requests, as long as they don't conflict with canon. Thank you.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

John poured a bucket of cold water on his windshield and started to scrape the ice off the glass. Bobby was in the shed, getting some extra snow chains for the tires. The roads were finally clear, and today they were going out on the hunt. John couldn't deny that he was excited. A real ghost, and he was going to see it! He had not mentioned his feelings to Bobby. It would merely further convince the man that he was an overeager amateur who had no business going hunting. This was his chance to prove Bobby wrong. He stepped back, surveying his work. It wasn't the best he had ever done, but he would be able to drive. Now to deal with Dean.

He found him inside, standing on a chair washing Sam's bottle in the kitchen sink and watching the preparations with interest. He walked over to him, "Hey Dean."

His son glanced around at him, his face lighting up when he realized it was his father, "Daddy!" he dropped the bottle in the water and flung his wet arms around John's neck. John stepped back a little in surprise, "Yeah, sport. Um, Uncle Bobby and I are going out, maybe even for a couple of days. Can you hold down the fort until we get back?" Dean dropped his arms and stared at him, something akin to disappointment in his eyes, "Yeah, Daddy. Of course I can."

"I wouldn't ask except you're a big boy, and I'm sure you can do a good job." He saw Dean prick up a little at the complement, then his son turned back to his work.

"Sammy's hungry. I need to fix his bottle," he said, his voice almost a monotone. John patted his shoulder and left the room. Bobby was leaning on the doorway, and stopped him on his way out, "What was that?"

John glanced at him tiredly, "That was what needed to be done. Now are we going or not?" Bobby watched him as he started out towards his car, then walked over to Dean. He put a hand on his shoulder, and the boy flinched away. He refused to take no for an answer, however, and took the bottle from his hands, setting it on the counter and turning Dean around to look him in the eye, "Look, kid. I won't claim I'm an expert in anything, and I sure as hell don't know what to do with children, but uh, it's going to be okay. Your dad's going through a hard time right now, but he'll get over it. And in the meantime, I want you to know I'm here. You may not trust me, but... if you need help, or a shoulder to lean on, you come to me. Do you understand?" Dean stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded. Bobby pulled him into a hug, and Dean awkwardly draped his arms on his shoulders "Good. Now I don't want to see you hiding from me anymore, you hear?" Dean buried his face in Bobby's neck. A horn sounded outside, and Bobby pulled away, ruffling Dean's hair, "Well, kid, sounds like someone's getting impatient. I'll see you soon, okay?" Dean nodded, smiling slightly, and Bobby started towards the doorway, "Good boy."

He stopped by the Impala and leaned on the driver's window, "Are you sure about this?"

John stared at him, "Sure about what?"

"Leaving your kids alone in my house. Dean's four, and I have an arsenal in the basement."

"He's smart. He knows better than to go messing around with guns. They're all unloaded anyway. You're worried about nothing." Bobby scoffed, shaking his head. The man was truly unbelievable. Still, he supposed it was really John's call, they were his kids after all, "Okay, if you're sure." He got in his salvaged car and drove off, checking his mirrors to make certain John was following him.

* * *

Racheville, they discovered, was a tiny place in the middle of nowhere, one of those last holdouts of small town America. One motel, almost empty, was all there was for accommodations. People hurried through the snow, desperate to get out of the freezing temperatures. John and Bobby reserved a room, then unloaded the cars and rushed inside.

The room was relatively nice. It was done in a woodland theme, complete with pillars carved like totem poles and a stuffed bear in the corner. The beds had forest green comforters, and the metal screen separating the beds from the living area had crude pine tree cutouts. Bobby shrugged and set his duffels on the far bed, "Well, no place like home, I guess. Better get unpacked, we have a long day tomorrow."

* * *

Sam wailed. Where was his person? He was almost always there, especially when Sam woke up, hungry and scared, and now he was very scared. He had had another dream. They came frequently, these dreams, and he hated them. This time he had been all alone in a room. Well, not quite alone. There was a woman, with dark hair and a knowing smirk, but there was something about her... He knew she wasn't a nice woman, and she wanted him to do something very bad. He wasn't sure what, but he remembered the horrible pain and loneliness, the grief so strong he felt he couldn't breathe, and it terrified him. He wanted his person. Where was Dean?

A shaggy blond head appeared over him, quietly shushing in an attempt to soothe him. His person was here! He sat up, holding out his arms and whimpering in a plea to be held, and Dean picked him up, bouncing him gently until his sobs dissolved into happy coos and giggles, the dream forgotten.

Dean wondered what his dad and Uncle Bobby were doing. Why had they left? Oh well. Daddy had promised he would come back, so had Uncle Bobby, so he supposed they would. He frowned. They had better. He was running out of diapers and formula, and today he had opened the fridge to find nothing but beer and a little ham, unsliced. He worried about Sam to. Why did he cry all the time? He didn't used to. Not before the fire. He wanted to ask Daddy about it, but he suspected his question would not be welcome. Daddy was far too busy lately to worry about such matters. That was why he needed Dean's help. So that Sam would be safe and taken care of, and he could think about more important things. Maybe he would ask Uncle Bobby.

He walked carefully downstairs and set Sam on the floor, then moved a little ways away and knelt down, his arms outstretched, and called his brother. This had been their latest project. Sam sat for a few seconds, staring at him, then cautiously fell to all fours and started in his direction. His progress was slow, and he frequently lost his footing, but it was a beginning, and Dean couldn't have been happier. He scooped Sam into his arms, cheering, "Great job, Sammy! That's even farther then yesterday! I'm so proud of you!" Sam squealed happily, grasping Dean's hair and giving it a hard tug. Dean yelled in surprised pain, before carefully unwrapping Sam's fingers, "Uh-uh, Sammy. You do that, I might need short hair!" He cradled him against his shoulder, "I love you. You know that, right? Not as much as Daddy does, no one can do anything as much as Daddy, he's amazing, but... I love you."

So it went between them, the little lost boy, granting the love and approval to another that he craved from his father, and the frightened child in need of affection.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello again! Thank you everyone who followed, you're amazing. By the way, John was born in 1954, which means he was 29 when Mary died, therefore he is thirty at this point in the fic. Because of this, I am picturing Matt (Young John), not JDM, so, do as you like with that information. pianobookworm18: You're welcome! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thank you very much for the scene, it has been placed in the timeline, and I will be sure to include it. I will try to update often. Thanks for reviewing!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

While Dean taught his brother the secrets of locomotion, in Racheville, Bobby and John were spending the day at the library. John had taken the microfiche viewer, while Bobby looked through the periodicals. Every so often, they would each mark down a name on a piece of paper. Bobby sighed, "How far back are you so far?"

John didn't look up, "About a hundred years."

Any bodies?"

"Fair number."

"Okay. Well, I think I'm done. Let's go."

He started toward the door, "We can review this back at the motel tonight. For now, we have other stuff to do."

John looked confused, "Other stuff like what?"

"Well you can't honestly be expecting to play fed in that get-up, are you?"

"Play fed? Wait, we're not going to-"

"Yep. 'Fraid so."

"But... ID! And I'm pretty sure they check this stuff, we're going to get caught!"

Bobby turned to him, "The only way we're gonna get caught is if you keep yelling. Don't worry about ID, either. I know a guy. Picked one up from him before the hunt. Now did you pack a monkey-suit, or do I have to buy you one?" He walked off, ignoring John's sputtered protests.

* * *

It was weird, seeing Bobby with his hair slicked back and wearing a suit, and John didn't hesitate to tell him so, "You look ridiculous."

"Hey, at least I don't look like I belong in a damn Macy's window."

"That isn't even a good insult."

Bobby shrugged, "Long as the male-model mannequin can work. You coming?"

They drove the Impala to the home of the family and stared at the suburban house. John couldn't help but think how bizarre it all was, the house looked so... normal.

Bobby nudged his arm, and John looked over at the other hunter. Bobby held up a card, "Here. Now don't go messing this up, I had to pay a damned sight for this and I ain't buying you another." John laughed and took it, then the blood drained from his face, "FBI. Really Bobby?"

The man shrugged, "Kinda standard in this line of work."

"Still, that's pretty illegal."

"Get used to it, it doesn't get any better. Ready?" John nodded, then they got out of the car and walked to the house. Bobby knocked on the door, "Let me do the talking. Stand there, keep your trap shut." The door opened, revealing a downcast young woman in jeans and a sweater. They held up their badges. Bobby spoke, "Agents Wallace and Green. I'm Wallace, he's Green." John glared at him as he continued, "We would just like to ask you a few questions about the deaths your family has experienced in the last few years." She sagged against the doorframe, a sad smile coming to her lips, "Finally. We thought no one cared. The police ruled them out as accidental, but I knew it couldn't be that, and no one would listen- and here I am making you stand out on the porch while I talk. Come in, please." They walked past her, and she escorted them into the living room. They sat down.

John sat forward and pulled out a notepad, "So, Mrs. Hart, that is the name, isn't it?" Now it was Bobby's turn to glare at his partner. John ignored him, "The people who were killed, your husband was one of them, wasn't he?"

She nodded, "Yes. Car crash. Police said he saw a deer and swerved."

"And the other two victims? Your daughter and sister?"

"They said my sister was drunk. Drunk! She never touched alcohol in her life. Not even on her twenty-first birthday. Never a drop. It's simply impossible. And Alice was 'tired'. Her car went off the road and flipped three times into a ditch. Does that sound like 'tired' to you?"

John shook his head uncomfortably, "No, no it doesn't. That's why we're here, to find out what's happening, and stop it."

"Thank you. I just don't understand why this is happening to my family."

"Yes."

Bobby interrupted him, "Ma'am, is there anyone that you know of that might have a grudge against you?"

"What? No!"

"Anyone at all? Anyone... dead?"

"I fail to see why that would be important. And I can't think of anyone anyway." John couldn't help noticing the guilty look on her face, or the way her eyes were shifting. She stood up, "Anyway, I'm going out so... Maybe I'll see you gentlemen another time?" They shook her hand and said their goodbyes.

They left the house and walked back to the Impala. John spoke, "Green? Really?"

"I could go with 'Dumbass' if you'd prefer." John smiled as they climbed back into the car, "Nice, Bobby. Really mature."

Bobby continued, "You see the way she looked after that one question? She's definitely hiding something."

John started the car, "We knew that already. After all, her husband, her sister, her daughter? This thing is obviously revolving around her."

Bobby glared at him, "I thought I told you to keep your damn mouth shut."

"Hey. I handled it, didn't I?"

"You could have screwed up the whole frigging hunt!"

"But I didn't."

* * *

Dean once more stared at the fridge. The ham was all that was left to eat, but he would have to slice it up, and he remembered his mother warning him to stay away from sharp objects, especially knives. Still, he was really hungry, and if he was careful it shouldn't go badly.

He scooted a chair over to the counter and grabbed the ham out of the fridge, then climbed up to put it on the counter. Then he moved the chair to get a knife. He hesitated, his mother's worried voice in his head, and scanned the selection, before taking out a fairly small knife he hoped wouldn't be too dangerous. He heard a worried cry from the floor, and looked down to see Sam staring at him with a concerned expression. He smiled reassuringly, "It's okay, Sammy. I won't fall." He jumped down from the chair and moved it back to its previous position to finish obtaining his lunch.

A few minutes later he sat at the table, enjoying his first meal since the night before. He felt something grab his leg, and looked down to see his brother, his arms wrapped around the limb in a tight hug, and looking extremely relieved, "See Sammy, I said I'd be okay." Sam stared up at him, focusing. His mouth opened and a small noise came out, "D-"

Dean watched him, "What is it, Buddy?"

"D-"

"Okay, whatever. Have it your own way." He looked down to realize the portion of meat he had cut himself was gone. He wanted more, but he didn't know when the adults would be back, therefore the remainder had to be rationed. So, a distraction. That was what he needed.

His face lit up as he thought of something, and he jumped up from the chair, "Come on Sammy, catch me if you can!"

He laughed as Sam tried to crawl after him and ended up flat on his face. His brother didn't cry though, as Dean had expected, merely picked himself up again and continued on with a determined expression. He cheered at Sam's progress, and let him catch his ankle, "Wow! You're fast!" Then he laughed again, "But not fast enouph!"

The angel in the corner watched the proceedings confusedly. What was humorous about the situation? Finally he gave up. He would never understand humans.

He became aware of one of his siblings positioned near him.

"Hello, Uriel."

"Castiel."

They watched the boys for a while. Uriel spoke, "I do not understand what you see in these mud-monkeys. Look at them. Rolling around on the floor like animals. Disgusting hybrids."

"You should not talk about them like that. Our Father considers them His greatest masterpiece."

"Oh I know. But really, an ape with a soul stuffed inside? And such a soul. Humans are worse than demons." Castiel considered arguing, but such a move was fruitless with Uriel. He decided on a different tack, "What are you doing here, Uriel? This is not your task."

"I thought I would keep you company. Watching these beasts, it must grow tiresome for you." He didn't quite understand why Uriel seemed to consider him his friend. They were stationed in the same foxhole, under the same commander, and had consequently grown close. He even, at times, enjoyed the angel's company, when he wasn't expressing his nearly blasphemous opinions about humans. However, Castiel had never encouraged the connection. In fact he frequently wished Uriel would simply leave him alone, now being one of those times. He was mildly relieved, therefore, when Uriel announced, "Well, I'm afraid I have to go now. I was only dropping by briefly on my way to my next assignment. They are sending me with a message to the cupids."

"My condolences." Uriel laughed, "Your condolences! Indeed. But perhaps I can escape with minimal contact. I will see you later."

Castiel found himself rather pleased when he felt himself alone once more, and returned his attention to the oblivious vessels. He had to admit, he was rather fond of the small creatures. It saddened him that Uriel couldn't see their potential for goodness.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for reading, following and faving. I love you!

ncsupnatfan: Thank you for reviewing. This is a fic I wanted to do from the moment I started the show, and I finally got around to it. I also got a new laptop, one that supports word, so that explains the change in spacing. Cas is in this fic for several reasons, for one thing, I cannot imagine the angels leaving the most important vessels in the history of everything, not to mention their ticket to the apocalypse, unguarded. As for it being Cas, well, why change who you have dealing with them partway through the mission? It seems logical to me that if they had one angel watching them as children, the higher-ups would not change the angel in charge of that once they grow up. Thank you. I'm glad you like the plot.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 7

* * *

John and Bobby sat in the motel room, going over the notes from their research.

John was frustrated, "This is impossible. How many people can die in one small town?"

Bobby looked up, "Well, who dumped you on prom night? I never told you you had to record every single death in the last century. Now stop whining and get back to work."

John glared at his notes, "What am I looking for, anyway?"

"I told you. Accidents, murders, suicides. Ghosts are born from violent deaths. Probably on that stretch of road, and probably a car involved."

"Because the victims died in car accidents?"

"Yep."

John looked up, "Um, Bobby, what are we going to do once we find the ghost?"

"Pretty standard. Dig 'em up, salt and burn."

"Well, that's going to be fun in this weather." Bobby nodded. The thermometer said negative twelve, and there was at least three feet of snow on the ground, probably more. Oh, yeah. Getting this done would be a lot of fun, especially since spirits really didn't like it when someone tried to burn their remains. Frozen ground and a pissed off ghost. This just got better and better. On the bright side, if there was ever a first job with the potential to turn a newbie off hunting, this was it.

* * *

Sam was annoyed. Dean was watching cartoons and he wanted to be held. Not that that was a problem. Dean was perfectly welcome to continue watching cartoons, but holding definitely had to be involved, and Dean wasn't paying the slightest attention to his silent pleas. He considered the options.

A loud wail broke through the room. Yay, it worked! Dean was looking at him now!

"What is it, Sammy? Are you hungry?" Dean sighed, "Okay." He got up and went to fix Sam's bottle.

Sam frowned. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. Now Dean was gone. That wasn't supposed to happen. He tried to think. He needed something drastic, something his brother couldn't ignore.

He crawled into the kitchen, to where Dean was standing on a chair measuring out formula and muttering something about "running out," whatever that meant. Sam considered the situation, and quickly determined the quickest route to the correct results. He focused as hard as he could, "D-" Well, that was disappointing. He tried again, "D-" He was on the verge of crying at this point, but concentrated hard on controlling his facial muscles and tried again, "Dee." His brother froze.

He said it again, more confidently this time, "Dee." Dean turned around, a shocked look on his face, and climbed off the chair.

"Sam, uh, Sammy I-" That was strange. Why were Dean's cheeks wet? The older boy rubbed a hand across his face. Still, he responded correctly. Dean reached down and lifted him into his arms, holding him tightly.

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Sam had talked! Not only talked, had said his name! Sam cared about him, knew he existed. He couldn't believe it. He had thought he was nothing to the baby, the unimportant individual who fed him and changed him, nothing more. Even he knew a baby's first words were supposed to be 'Momma' or 'Dada'. That it should be his name was overwhelming. He didn't know what to say. Dean found himself crying as he held his brother. Someone in the world cared about him. "Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

"I think I found it," John said triumphantly, holding a sheet of notes in his hand. Bobby looked up from his own research, "Really. What makes you so sure?"

"Well, listen to this. Hannah Dawson, 1975, killed in a hit and run accident on Greer road." Ha. Take that you sour, rude, annoying, unimpressible, doubting jerk.

Bobby nodded, "Sounds about right. What part of Greer road? Or did the coroner forget to mention."

"He did mention, and it was the right section. Sounds like our interviewee might have been the other car."

Bobby took the paper and looked it over, "Would explain why it would be going after her family. Just keep going until it gets a crack at her."

John stared at him excitedly, "So what now? Find the grave, right?"

"Yep. Back to the library."

It was getting late as John waited in the Impala for Bobby to come out of the library. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he climbed into the car. John stared at him, "Well?"

"Got it."

He started the car, "Okay."

They drove to the graveyard named in Bobby's new info, climbed out of the car, and walked around to the trunk for their flashlights and salt guns. They had already decided to leave the shovels and other gear until they located the grave. The moon was out, which was good for visibility, but it had started snowing, it was cold enouph that John felt his thick coat wasn't even there, and he really wished they could just leave this part until tomorrow, not that he would admit that to Bobby.

The other hunter must have noticed his shivering anyway because he turned to John and spoke, "You okay?"

"Yeah," John snapped.

"It's just, you look a little cold. Sure you're okay for shooting? After all, your hands are shaking, and you haven't shot a gun in how many years? Cold's not good for aim."

"I was a marine. I'm fine, and I'm pretty sure shooting's like riding a bike. Let's go." He stalked off into the graveyard before Bobby could make any more smart remarks. Bobby closed the trunk, "Idjit."

John stumbled around the graveyard, his sawed-off tightly held in one hand while he waved his flashlight around with the other. He lost his footing again as his foot collided with a hidden root and he cursed, barely keeping himself from falling face-first in the deep snow. His flashlight beam swung wildly as he walked, making it difficult to read the gravestones. He heard Bobby yell from elsewhere that he had found it, and he started over, hoping as he did so that the shotgun in his hand would not be necessary.

After confirming the name on the gravestone, John made his way back to the car to get the pickaxes and shovels. Then he stood guard while Bobby fetched the duffle of other supplies. They had gone in turn out of worry of losing track of the grave's location, but John was really glad when the other man returned. Graveyards were just so damn creepy, and the possibility of a crazy ghost out for blood showing up really was doing nothing for his peace of mind.

Bobby walked up, dropping the duffle to the ground with the shovels and pickaxes. Then he sighed, "Well, I reckon we may as well get started. You wanna stand guard first, or dig?" John considered, eyeing the tools in a heap on the snowy ground. Digging in this would be incredibly hard work, but then one would get awfully cold standing still holding a gun in that weather. He quickly made his decision, dropping his gun and grabbing a shovel, "I'll dig."

* * *

John briefly wondered if he had completely lost his mind when he agreed to come on this hunt. Digging the grave was backbreaking work. First he had to shovel the snow away, which was miserable and cold and difficult when he was using an ordinary metal shovel, then the real problems began.

Painful vibrations ran up his chilled arms as his shovel hit the frozen earth. Right, he had to break up the ground. He dropped it and went for the pickaxe.

After about ten minutes, he had a fair amount of simi-diggable dirt he could then shovel out of the grave. He repeated this process several times, before bending backwards with a groan.

Bobby's voice cut into his consciousness, "Hey! You need a break?"

He did, but he wasn't about to admit it, "No."

"Liar. Now get your stubborn ass up here and watch my back. Don't want you too tired to fight, or me dropping from frostbite. Time for a tradeoff." John stepped out of the hole, noting as he did so that he had made far less progress then he had thought. The excavated area was only six inches or a foot deep. He picked up his gun from beside the grave, where he had set it to be within easy reach while digging. Then he started watching.

They traded off several more times, and were making good progress. John was beginning to wonder if Bobby had overestimated the ghost threat. Bobby was digging at the moment, or rather hacking as he was currently using his pickaxe. John was standing guard, if he was to be honest with himself rather laxly, given that he, at this point, really didn't think they were in any real danger. After all, up to now Hannah had only haunted a certain stretch of road. It wasn't like she was just suddenly going to change stomping grounds, and he really didn't see how she would know they were there anyway. He heard Bobby's pick hit wood behind him.

Due to his lack of attention, he really wasn't ready when Bobby was lifted by an invisible force and thrown through the air. He stared in horrified shock as the other man flew quite a few feet, before hitting his head on a gravestone. A young woman staticed into view and started toward Bobby threateningly.

Coming to himself, John forced himself to look away from the scene and leapt into the grave to start furiously clearing the last of the dirt with his shovel. Then he thought of something. Straightening up, he took careful aim with his salt gun, shot, and the spirit dissolved with a scream. Well, that was surprisingly easy. He went back to his work.

The peace didn't last long though. An anguished cry told John the ghost was back, and he worked faster, his gun forgotten as he hacked at the wooden boards of the coffin to reveal the corpse. That done, he levered himself out of the hole and unzipped the duffle.

John willed himself not to look in Bobby's direction as he pulled some large cans out of the bag. Opening one, he hurriedly dumped salt in the grave, followed by gasoline from the other can. Then he struck the package of matches, and tossed them in.

He really wasn't sure what he had been expecting to happen, but as he turned to see if it had worked, Hannah left off hurting Bobby and threw her arms over her head, arching and giving an anguished wail as she appeared to explode in flames. It was all over in a few seconds. John pulled himself out of his shocked reverie and ran to the other hunter's side. Bobby gave a pained grin, "You did good. You were a useless bastard, and you apparently forgot you had a gun, but you did good."

"Shut up, Bobby," He said, without any heat. He checked Bobby over before pulling his arm around John's shoulders and helping him up, "Come on. You don't seem too badly hurt, but you don't need to be out in the snow any longer. I'll get the stuff."

"What do you think I am, a baby? I can deal with a damned concussion without your help."

"It wasn't the concussion I was worried about, you stubborn ass."

"Yeah, whatever." John laughed as he assisted Bobby into the passenger seat. He returned to the Impala after a few minutes with their gear from the hunt, and then he drove them back to the motel to grab a few hours sleep before heading back.


	8. Chapter 8: Happy Birthday to You

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! Have a chapter!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 8: Happy Birthday to You

* * *

For some reason that John couldn't quite fathom, Bobby woke him after only about four hours of sleep and insisted they hit the road. John couldn't think of a single reason for this, and the other hunter only chuckled at questions and acted like John was joking and must already know. He'd have strangled the man if Bobby wasn't injured, and told him as much.

They climbed back into their cars, John wanted Bobby to ride with him, but then he was reminded that Bobby had driven himself here, and John couldn't really drive two cars. Bobby said he wasn't all that concussed, anyway, and had driven himself places with far worse than he had now. After what seemed an eternity, with John convinced Bobby was about to crash any second the entire way, they pulled up in front of Bobby's house.

A small figure ran out of the kitchen as they entered, hurrying to greet them with an elated yell. Then he skidded to a stop and stared at John, his face unreadable. John knew the shock and horror of last night's events was starting to hit him, and wondered if it showed on his face. Then Dean walked over and wrapped his arms around his father, "It's okay Daddy." John hugged him back, burying his hand in the boy's hair. He smiled. Dean didn't even know what they had been doing, and he was still there for him. What a great kid.

John pulled away, still smiling, "Hello to you to, sport." Dean grinned. Dammit, the kid looked like he was in heaven.

Bobby cleared his throat, and both Winchesters turned their attention onto the other man, who was smiling mysteriously and holding his hands behind his back. John studied him, puzzled. Did this have something to do with Bobby's strange rush back? He remembered him insisting on stopping by a store. What was going on?

"Hey, Dean. Guess what I got behind my back?"

Dean looked just as confused as he did, "Ummm, I don't know. What?"

"Aww, you're no fun. Anyway, here," He pulled a large toy truck out from behind him and Dean's eyes lit up, "Happy birthday, kid." Wait. What? Dean ran at him and took the toy, studying it carefully, "Sammy and I can have lots of fun with this," He looked back at the hunter, "Thank you!"

John was still trying to figure out how it could be Dean's birthday and how he could have forgotten when the small boy turned his expectant gaze onto him. Yeah, thanks a lot Bobby. He didn't have to put John on the spot like that. John felt his pockets, hoping he would find something he could pass off as a present. He ignored Bobby's disapproving glare as he held out a hunting knife, "Here, Dean. Happy birthday." Dean took it hesitantly, studying it before saying, "Thank you?" a second later his excitement returned, "Daddy! Uncle Bobby! Wait there! I have something to show you!" He darted off, his precious gifts held tightly as he ran upstairs. John turned to glare at Bobby, "What the hell was that?"

"I could ask you the same question. After all, it wasn't me gave a five-year-old a hunting knife for a present."

"I forgot it was his birthday. Speaking of which, how did you know?"

"You told me in our first conversation. I asked you how old they were, you said and I quote, 'Dean will be five on the twenty-fourth.'" Oh, yeah. This was ringing a few bells.

Dean came trooping back in, Sam firmly held in his arms, his little hands gripping Dean's shirt for balance. The baby looked confusedly from one adult to the other, as if unsure what to make of them, before burying his head in Dean's chest, one eye still peeking at John and Bobby. Dean grinned at him, "Come on, Sammy. Tell them what you told me." The baby moved his head to stare at the boy as if he was insane. Dean tried again, "Come on, Sammy. Please." He looked at the baby pleadingly.

Suddenly Sam grinned and pushed a hand into his brother's face, "Dee!" he yelled, giggling, showing off dimples. Dean grinned back at them, "Hear that? He said my name!"

Bobby spoke, "Sounds like Sam got you a present to, and a damn good one," He jerked his head toward the door, "How about helping me with groceries? There might even be a cake if you hurry." John excused himself as they all went out the door, talking and laughing. So much had happened in the last few days and he just needed a moment to process it all.

* * *

Dean was so happy right now. Daddy was back, Sam had talked, and Uncle Bobby had brought back food! Not only that, apparently it was his birthday, and now he had some new presents! He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Daddy's present, Mommy's warning about knives echoing back through his head, but he would think about it later. It had been a very strange birthday, all the other's had been such celebrations, with Mommy getting up early to decorate the house, and baking a cake the day before that she did a very poor job of hiding, but it was no less wonderful. It wasn't like anything had been normal since the fire, anyway.

He shrieked as Uncle Bobby suddenly grabbed his legs, lifting him onto his shoulders as he walked back inside. Sam squealed excitedly as they entered, crawling quickly as he tried to keep up with the man's long strides. He set Dean down as they entered the kitchen, before setting the last of the bags on the counter and getting to work unloading their contents. He got a pan out of the cabinet, "Dean! How about you get started unloading that crap, and I'll make us some lunch."

Dean grinned, sounded good to him. He'd do anything for food at this point, and the stuff Uncle Bobby had brought back looked delicious. He scooted a chair to the counter.

Lunch was great. Dean and Bobby sat at the table, Sam in Dean's lap. He reached towards Dean's food and cooed pleadingly.

"Uh-uh Sammy. That's for big people. I'll fix you a bottle in a minute, okay?" Sam frowned. But he wanted what they were having.

Bobby spoke, "You know, he is getting a bit old for formula. If you want, we could work on weaning him."

Dean looked confused. This was how things were. The idea of anything changing sounded strange to his ears. Still, if Uncle Bobby thought- wait!

"Um, Uncle Bobby? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure kid, shoot."

"Why does Sammy cry all the time? He didn't used to, not before- not before everything changed, but now, he cries all the time, especially right after he wakes up, and... What do I do?

"Well, looks to me like you just gotta keep doing what you been doing. He's a baby, it's practically their job description."

"But he's sad. I don't want him to be sad. I want him to be happy."

"And I'm sure he will be. How could he not with such an amazing big brother?"

"You think I'm amazing?"

"Kid, I've seen full grown adults couldn't do what you're doing," The idjit sulking upstairs rather than celebrating his son's birthday, for example, "Now how about that cake?" Dean smiled and nodded.

* * *

They stayed another night. Dean woke up the next morning to find Daddy packing up the car. He watched him confusedly, "What's going on?"

"We're leaving, Dean. Go get your stuff. Hey, make sure you get Sammy!" Dean started upstairs, dragging his feet. He liked it here. What would the next place be like?

Bobby passed him on the stairs, "What's wrong, kid?" Dean stared at him for a second before running the rest of the way up. Bobby walked towards the door, "Hey John." The man straightened, setting down the bag in his hand, "Well, Bobby, I think we're done here. I picked a hunt from the board over there. Checked it off."

Bobby nodded, "Okay. Got my number?"

"Yeah. Thanks for everything." John held out a hand in offer of a handshake. Bobby ignored it, "You sure?"

"Sure about what?"

"That you want to leave. What are those boys of yours gonna do if you go tramping all over the country?"

"I'll take them with me. I'll have to get a motel room in any case, and for dangerous hunts I can always leave them with a hunter in the area."

"Oh yeah, 'cause hunters are so easy to find."

John grinned, "Got your number, don't I?"

"I don't know every hunter on the continent!"

"No, but you know a lot, and they'll know others. I'll be okay."

Dean came down the stairs, two duffels dragging from one hand and Sam tightly held in the other. He walked past the adults, not looking up as he walked out the door. Bobby called after him, "Hey, kid!" Dean looked back at him. "I'll see you again, okay?" Dean smiled, nodding slightly. John picked up the last of the stuff, holding out his hand once more, "Well, I guess this is goodbye. See you around." Bobby accepted this time, "Be careful out there. Take care of yourself."

"I will." He walked out, following Dean to the car. Bobby stood at the door, watching as the Impala started up and made its way down the driveway. Finally it was out of sight. He sighed, he hoped he'd see them again, he liked those kids.


	9. Chapter 9: Monsters Inc

A/N: Thanks for reading! Thank you for the follows and favs. Please give me feedback, it encourages me to post more often.

I would like to thank the incredible fic If I Knew Then What I know Now for giving me additional ideas for this fic.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 9: Monsters Inc.

* * *

Dean sat in a bed in a cold motel room some weeks later, watching Daddy check under Dean's bed and in the closet for monsters. Something about his expression was wrong, smile-ish rather than serious, nothing like Dean would have expected from someone possibly about to go up against a bloodthirsty monster any second. He was reminded of when his friend had told him about Santa Clause a year ago. That boy's parents had had the same look on their faces. Then he had asked Mommy about it and she had said Santa wasn't real. He wondered if this was the same sort of thing, a show put on for his benefit. Mommy had never done this, always Daddy. He didn't like the idea that he might have been duped. He decided to settle the matter once and for all. He looked down at Daddy, currently looking under his bed, "Daddy, are monsters real?"

John froze. How could Dean know about that? Was it his journal? He didn't think Dean could read, but then he didn't really know what the boy had been doing and there were pictures in there anyway for future reference. Oh, why did he have to keep that stupid journal? What did he do? Should he tell the truth or lie? Dammit, he wasn't ready for this.

He sat up, tears in his eyes as he studied his son. Of course, it seemed that he knew already. He might just be asking to see if John could be trusted. He took a shaky breath, "Yes. Yes they are. I'm sorry Dean."

Dean's eyes widened. That was not the answer he had been expecting. He glanced uneasily around the room, "They can't get in, can they?"

"No. You're safe in here. See that salt on the windows and doors?" Dean nodded.

"No monster can get past it. Don't worry." Well, no monster he was hunting at the moment, anyway, and it would make Dean feel better. Dean looked back at him, eyes wide with wonder as he whispered, "Are you a superhero?" John chuckled, tucking the boy in and moving to his own bed, "Good night, Dean."

Dean sat awake, long after the others were sleeping, his heart pounding out of his chest. Monsters were real. The idea terrified him, but that wasn't important. He had to protect Sam. An idea came to him. Quietly, he eased himself out of bed, moving to open his duffle. Come on, where was it? Ah! He took out the hunting knife his father had given him for his birthday. Of course, the strange present made sense now. Daddy wanted him to be able to keep himself safe. He walked back to his bed, sliding the weapon under his pillow, then moved Sam from his crib to Dean's bed. He studied his work. There. Any monster wanting to get to Sam would have to go through him first, and he was armed. Satisfied, he lay back down and went to sleep, his arms curled around his brother.

* * *

He awoke the next morning to find Daddy gone. Not that he had been expecting him to stick around, but he missed having him there during the day. Still, he had work to do. Now he knew about monsters, this was a whole different ball game. He walked around the room, checking the salt lines. If that was the only thing keeping them safe, he was going to make certain it was doing its job.

He came across a place where a window had been left open, allowing the wind to disturb the salt, and stared at the two-inch hole. What did he do now? He heard Sam wake up, crying of course, and he knew his brother needed help. "Not now, Sammy!" Certainly the one-year-old needed caring for, but this was more important. He struggled to close the window, then looked around the room, trying to find something to fix the line. His gaze fell on a container his father had left by the door. He ran over to it. Yes! Salt. He hurried back to the spot and carefully poured more on the hole. There, they were safe.

He walked back to the baby and picked him up, bouncing him on his hip as he walked, "I'm sorry I didn't come, Sammy. I had to protect you. But don't worry, 'cause, you're always gonna be safe, I'll see to that. Everything's gonna be okay."

* * *

John watched as the coroner pulled out the three bodies and spoke, "Well, there they are. Not sure why the FBI is interested in wild animal attacks, but, uh, have fun. I'll leave you to it." He handed John a stack of folders containing case files and coroners reports, and left the room.

John set the folders on the table behind him and turned to the first body. He wasn't surprised it had been put down to wild animals, the man had been torn apart. He studied it, checking the chest cavity. He sighed, just as he had expected. He moved on to the next one, more intact, but still mangled, with the same results. All three were the same. Mauled to death, and no heart. He looked around the room for a phone. He was pretty sure he remembered right, but he wanted to double-check. Ah! He tucked the receiver under his chin and, glancing at the address book from his pocket, dialed.

"Hello?" Came a familiar, annoyed voice.

"Hey, Bobby?"

"John? What the hell-" He decided to interrupt Bobby's usual greeting tirade.

"Um, yeah. I'm calling you from the morgue of this town somewhere. Three bodies, mauled, no heart. That means werewolf, right?"

"Yep. I told you that while you were at my place. Why are you calling me now?"

"Just double-checking."

"Okay. And you use silver to kill them, before you ask. And make sure your head's attached to your shoulders before you leave."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Hey, do werewolves ever hunt in packs?"

"No, they're pretty solitary, that's more of a vampire thing, why?"

"Just wondering."

"How're those boys of yours?"

"They're, uh, yeah, they're great. Werewolf, silver, just one, got it. Bye Bobby." He hung up before the man could ask any more questions.

* * *

He walked out of the hospital, glad to be out in the fresh spring air away from the mutilated cadavers. He pushed the sight out of his mind. There was nothing he could do for them. All he could do was catch this thing before it killed again. He drove to a secluded area to plan his next move, then got out of the car and walked around to the trunk.

He opened it, then lifted the false floor Bobby had put in before he left. It was a good idea, he had to admit. Nice contained storage space that hid the arsenal from prying eyes. He took in the stash. There wasn't much, as yet, a couple of guns, some knives, some other, more specialized weapons Bobby had given him. Silver. That was what he needed. He searched through it all, finally coming across a long silver knife. Not quite what he had been hoping for, but then, beggars can't be choosers, and this thing needed to be stopped. He tossed it back in and closed the trunk, leaning against the car as he considered. Right. The next step was finding the thing. A map.

* * *

He purchased a map of the area from a nearby convenience store, and got to work, the map spread on the right, his notes on the case files on the left. Consulting with the notes, he mapped the deaths, and drew a circle. There, it was likely to be somewhere inside that circle. Of course, it was always possible that it had a larger hunting ground, but he could only hope that wasn't the case. The last full moon was tonight, and he was determined to end this.

He drove into an alley as night fell, exiting the car and sliding the knife into his belt. He knew everything he could know, and now he just had to find the thing. Maybe it would consider him an attractive meal. He scoffed, like he'd be that lucky. He walked the streets of the delineated area, watching carefully for werewolf activity. After about thirty minutes he heard a snuffling sound and dived behind a dumpster, peeking out a second later to see what he was up against. His fingers closed around the hilt of the knife.

A homeless man shuffled into view, sniffing in an apparent cold. John was highly annoyed. What was this idiot doing out? Some people were trying to conduct a successful hunt over here! Then he heard it, a deep growl, behind him. He dodged to one side as the werewolf swiped at his shoulder, whirling around to see it. He paused in shock. It looked like a man. Sure he had long sharp teeth, and his nails were clawlike, and his eyes had a wolf-like luminosity, but it was definitely, recognizably human. He came to himself just in time to dodge another attack. However it was ready this time, and grabbed him up, tossing him through the air to land painfully on the pavement, then jumped on top of him. He yelled in agony as it dug into his shoulder with its claws, before he grabbed it to hold it in place, preventing the werewolf from ripping out any flesh. The thing was incredibly strong, and he wouldn't be able to hold onto it long, but hopefully his strength would last long enouph. He pulled the knife out of his belt, and shoved it into the creature's belly. It howled in pain, and released him. Great. He had been hoping for a kill shot, but apparently it was only slightly wounded. They circled each other warily, both panting and sluggish from pain and blood loss. It rushed him, and he readied himself, meeting its charge and stabbing it in the heart. It fell to the ground, and he collapsed to his knees, exhaustion and adrenaline taking its toll. The creature's wolf-like features faded and it moaned, then its eyes went wide, "What- where am I? What's going on? Oh my God! I think I'm bleeding! Help! Sir! Help me please! What's happening?" He felt sick. The man had no idea what he was, had no idea he was brutally murdering people, a victim just as much as the people in the morgue. He couldn't bear to stay any longer. The man continued his pleas as John staggered to his feet, taking the knife from where it had fallen and struggling to walk to the Impala. The wolf wouldn't last long, he knew that, its wounds were too severe.

* * *

Dean heard the door unlock and smiled. Daddy was back! He ran towards it and stopped. It was awful. Daddy walked in, leaning heavily on the door, covered in blood, his face a mixture of pain and horror. Dean went to hug him, comfort him as he had every other time, back before he had known the truth, and his father stumbled, before erupting in curses and yelling, "What are you trying to do, you stupid kid? Trip me? Get out of the way." Dean hurried backward, and Daddy made his way to sit on his bed. Dean watched him, puzzled and concerned, Daddy never talked like that. Well, sometimes he and Mommy had fought, then he had talked like that, to Mommy, shortly before walking out and slamming the door, but not since the fire. What was going on? Had he done something wrong? It must have been very bad for Daddy to be this angry. He watched as Daddy stripped off his shirt, revealing a horrid-looking wound on his shoulder. The man probed it with his fingers, his face contorting in pain as he did so, before speaking to Dean, "Dean. I need you to go get me the first aid kit," The boy stood for a few seconds, staring at the wound in shock. "NOW!" He startled at the voice, and ran to fetch it.

Some time later, John sat on the bed, a bandage on his wounded shoulder. He needed a shower, and they should leave soon, but he was so tired and just wanted to sit for a few minutes. Dean approached him cautiously, "Daddy?"

"Yeah, sport?"

"What happened?" realization came over the boy's face, "Was it a monster?"

He nodded, "Yeah. But I got it."

Dean visibly relaxed, "I'm glad. Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"It's okay."

He smiled, "That obvious, huh?" Dean ran to him and crawled up on the bed, before throwing his arms around his father in a hug. John grunted as an arm brushed his injured shoulder, then turned to pat his son's back, "Thanks Dean. I uh, I need a shower now, so, if you could let me go?" Dean released him and he walked off toward the bathroom, glad he would finally be able to wash the blood off, and hopefully the memory of the dying man with it.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello, thanks for reading. No response, people? Really? Nothing? Where have you all gone? I miss you all. Please review, reviews make me want to post more often.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 10

* * *

John showered, grabbed a few hours sleep, and then they hit the road. Dean was used to the cycle by now. Pull into a town, unpack the car into some seedy motel room, Daddy would be gone during the days, and sometimes overnight. He was instructed to stay inside, take care of Sam, and not answer the phone or door for anyone. Eventually, Daddy would kill whatever it was he was hunting, and the cycle would start all over again.

Sam started walking a short time later. John came home one day to find the toddler standing on wobbly legs in the middle of the kitchen floor, Dean a short ways away kneeling down, "Hey, Daddy! Sammy and I are working on something! Stay there! Come on, Sammy! You can do it! Come on!" He gestured frantically, and Sam looked around, before carefully picking up one foot, and taking a few hesitant steps toward Dean, until he collapsed exhausted in his brother's outstretched arms. The boy lifted him up into a hug and cheered.

John smiled sadly. He remembered Dean's first steps, and he had always imagined Sam's would be like them, toddling across the floor at their house toward John, Mary standing off to one side, smiling and laughing. Damn, he missed her. He rarely wrote about his personal life in his journal, but he did record that, writing as though Mary could read every word, and, somehow, he could tell her.

* * *

It was September, and Daddy had now been gone for two days. Dean sat, bored, watching Sam pull himself to a standing position using the cabinets, babbling something Dean could never understand. Apparently it was something absolutely hilarious, given that he was giggling hysterically.

"You're really funny, Sammy," He said sarcastically. The toddler looked around at him, hazel eyes wide and questioning. Then he released his grip on the cabinet, scrunching up his face in concentration as he toddled towards Dean. He held up his arms, begging to be held, "Dee!" Dean rolled his eyes and complied, "You do know that's not my name, right?"

Sam giggled at that, and started babbling again, very seriously, as though saying something of immense importance, while trying to climb Dean like a mountain.

"Sam, no! Sammy, stop! Okay, that's enouph." He put him back down, and Sam stared about, frowning, as though confused as to how he had ended up back on the floor. He looked back at his brother, puppy dog eyes big enouph to make the toughest competition melt. Dean could never hold out against it long.

He let out a frustrated breath, "Fine," He picked Sam back up, standing to prevent climbing, and got an idea. He sat on the floor, Sam in his lap, "Hey, how much do you know? Can you tell me... my name?" Dean pointed to himself. The toddler looked confused for a moment, then seemed to pick up the rules of the game, "Dee!"

"Good. What about, uh, that?" Sam stared in the direction he was pointing, then looked back at Dean.

"That's a phone. Can you say it? Phooone."

"Fo?" Dean stared at him, "Close enouph. And that?" Sam appeared similarly unknowledgeable about that item.

"Table. Come on, Sammy. Say it! Ta-ble."

"Ta-buh." They continued this game for some time. Eventually Sam went to sleep. Dean got up, laid him down in his crib, then considered what he could do. The cartoons here were awful, and he'd seen them all anyway, what few toys he had he was heartily sick of, and it wasn't time to eat. What he really wanted was to go outside, he hadn't seen grass in weeks. Well, not in daylight anyway, but leaving the room was strictly on Daddy's 'no' list. He rechecked the salt lines, again, which took all of two minutes, then lay down on his bed, upside down, his shaggy hair almost dragging the floor. He was so bored.

Something on Daddy's nightstand caught his eye, a book. He considered. What could possibly be inside? He frequently saw Daddy writing in it, and he always kept it close and away from the children. He climbed off the bed and walked towards it, slowly, instinctively knowing he wasn't supposed to touch it even though he had never been told. He lifted it carefully, as though handling a sacred object, a piece of his father, one he could touch, could interact with if he could discover its secrets, unlike the man that sometimes sort of lived with them. He set it down on his bed and lay on his belly, legs in the air, and opened it.

It occurred to him that this would have been a far more fruitful exercise if he had known how to read. Still, there were pictures, carefully drawn by Daddy, or in some cases, pasted in from another source. They were of fantastic creatures, strange, morbid, bizarre. He was entranced. Did such things really exist? Is this what Daddy spent his days hunting? His gaze drifted to the writing and he wished he could understand it. His Daddy had written it, after all. He wasn't around to talk to, but Dean imagined reading the words he wrote would be the second best thing. He knew what he wanted to do now. He would learn how to read, and then he would read the book from cover to cover. It would also be useful for taking care of Sam, being able to read labels and bedtime stories and anything else needed. He decided to ask Daddy next time he saw him. Daddy could teach him.

* * *

John returned a couple of days later, bothered and concerned, brushing past Dean's greeting like the child wasn't there. He went to the bedroom and furiously started packing. Dean followed him, "Daddy?" John moved a packed duffle to the door, once again ignoring his son. Dean asked again as John moved back to the bed, "Daddy, what's going on? Is there anything I can do?" John looked at him, "Yes, yes there is. Go pack everything up, your stuff, whatever else needs doing." Dean nodded, and left to complete the assigned task, 'his stuff' understood to include Sam. He turned back to his father a second later, "But, what's going on?" John paused, then spoke, "Dean, I have something I need to do. We need to get out of here as fast as possible. I'll explain in the car, okay?" Dean nodded and went to work. Ten minutes later, they were gone.

John turned to his son, sitting in the passenger seat, the boy watching him with an expression that demanded answers, "So, you want to know what's up?" Dean nodded.

"Okay. There's a hunt I'm going to help Uncle Bobby with, very important, very dangerous."

"What sort of monster, Daddy?"

"Never mind that. It's not important. Now, this is too dangerous for you and Sam, so you're going to spend a little time at a friend's place."

The boy smiled, "Are we gonna go see Uncle Bobby?"

"No. There's a friend of his, great guy, or so he tells me. You're going to stay with him."

Dean sat back in his seat, pouting a little. He wanted to see Uncle Bobby. He missed him. He remembered Cindy and wondered if Uncle Bobby was going to be the same, someone in his past that he never got to see again. He felt tears forming in his eyes at the thought, and one welled over to roll down his cheek. John rolled his eyes, "Come on, Dean. Don't start crying. Crying's for babies, or civilians. Not soldiers like us. Buck up, it's not so bad." Dean turned toward the window, trying desperately to get his body under control. Daddy was disappointed in him, crying like a baby. Come on, Dean, just stop. Still the memories just wouldn't stop coming, and he shortly found himself in a worse state than before.

John sighed, frustrated, and scanned the radio, finally settling on Harden my Heart by Quarterflash.

* * *

John sat with his sons in the back of the church, listening to the pastor giving his sermon. John hoped the man finished up soon. He had places to be.

Finally the service ended. John waited until everyone left, then approached the pastor, collecting bulletins left by the choir.

"Pastor James Murphy?"

The man looked up, "That's me. What is it?" realization came over his face, "You're John Winchester."

John nodded, "Yeah. Bobby told you what's going on?"

"Yes. He said Daniel Elkins is putting together a team to finish off the vampires. Is that true?"

"Yep. Pretty much every damn hunter in the country. I- I mean-"

Pastor Jim gave a wry smile, "It's not the worst language these walls have seen."

"Sorry. Anyway, so, I'm leaving my boys with you, and I'll be back after the hunt to pick them up."

"Okay. Just bring their stuff in, and I'll see you soon."

John and Dean unloaded the car, then John left. Jim approached the young boy, sitting on the pew, holding his brother protectively. He shrank back into the seat as Jim approached, "Are you a monster?" He whispered, eyes wide with fear and his voice wavering slightly.

Jim's heart broke. What sort of person would tell a five-year-old about monsters? He crouched down, "No, I'm not. My name is Pastor Jim, I'm going to take care of you for a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah." The child looked down at the duffels, "Where should I put my stuff?"

"We can worry about that later. For now, how about some lunch?" He stood up, holding out his hand. The boy hesitated, then took it, and Jim led him off to the kitchen.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hi! I'm back! Great to see you all. MaraDixon413: Thank you for the follow, fav, and the amazing review. You're the best! The rest of you, neglectful, ungrateful wretches that made me suffer, take notes. ncsupnatfan: Lovely to have you back. Thank you so much for the review, you made my week. Yeah, Bobby is one of my favorite characters, and remembering Dean's birthday just seemed like the sort of wonderful thing Bobby would do. As far as John, writing him in this fic is actually very painful for me, because I actually like him, and he went down some very dark roads after Mary died. So, yes, I would love for him to be a wonderful father-of-the-year type and all, but unfortunately that just isn't in the cards no matter how good it would be for any of the Winchesters. Wow, that was a different response. I've been watching Con panels, I think it shows. Thank you so much for the complements. Anyway…

I do not own Supernatural or its characters

* * *

Chapter 11

* * *

Dean sat at the table, warily eating a grilled cheese, Sam in his lap. Until he was sure of this man, he wasn't getting anywhere near his brother, no matter how nice he seemed.

'Pastor Jim' sat down across from him, "Well, I've fed you, and I've told you my name, I believe it is common courtesy to return the favor."

Dean didn't understand a word of that, and apparently it showed on his face.

Jim smiled, "What's your name?"

"Oh, Dean. He's, uh, he's Sam."

"Dean and Sam. So, Dean, what would you like to do?"

"What?"

"We have a few days here, perhaps more. Is there anything you want to do while you're here?" Dean blinked. What did he want? What was his opinion? The concept was foreign to him, "I don't know. No one's ever asked me that before."

"Well, what do you do for fun?"

"I take care of Sammy. Sometimes the motels have cartoons." Jim sighed. He should have known. Most hunters with children would be leaving them at home with their mothers for a hunt like this, not dropping them off with a stranger. But then, vigilantes with children were very rare, so he supposed it was reasonable that he hadn't seen the truth in John Winchester's case. He felt for the boy.

"Well, this is your chance. So, how about it?" There was a long pause. Dean looked down at the table.

"I'd like to learn to read." That was not what he was expecting, "Really?"

"Yeah. I was going to ask Daddy but, uh, I think he's busy."

Jim considered the strange request, then nodded, "Okay."

"Thanks. So, um, what sort of hunter are you?"

He thought. How do you tell a five-year-old that you perform exorcisms and follow up on angel sightings? Not that the angel sightings hadn't all been bogus so far or anything... "Well, I mostly do research, for other hunters that aren't so good at it." It wasn't a lie. That was the majority of what he did. That and helping amateurs learn the ropes. There was a very limited number of demons floating around, after all, for which he was immensely grateful.

* * *

John sat at the bar, studying the place curiously. Hunters filled the Roadhouse, drinking, exchanging stories, and frequently proving the wisdom of the Harvelle's strict 'no weapons' rule. It was strange, seeing this many people together, knowing they were all like him. More kept trickling in at a fairly steady pace, a sign out front saying the place was 'reserved for a private engagement' ensuring no civilians showed up by mistake. He watched as a man attempted to bring in a large shotgun, only to be met at the door by Bill Harvelle, and after a brief argument the man left, returning weaponless a short time later. He turned to face Bill's wife, Ellen, currently wiping down the bar, "That 'no guns' thing is smart. Without it, I'm pretty sure there would have been some deaths by now."

"Yeah, well, when you run a bar for hunters, you learn real quick to take precautions. Some of these people have awful short tempers." He smiled at her, and she returned the favor, before moving to grab a beer for a customer, "What is that, Frank, your fifth? Make it last, 'cause that's the last one." Frank looked astonished, "Come on, Ellen! I can hold my booze better than that! How long have we known each other? Please, I'm dying of thirst!"

"The only thing you're dying of is lack of common sense. I know how well you hold your booze, and I'd rather not be cleaning you off the floor. There's important stuff going down tonight, and we all need clear heads." John chuckled as she took a Polaroid of the man, turned around, and added him to the 'do not serve' list. Frank continued to plead until she walked off into the back.

"Excuse me everyone, if I could have your attention." He turned to see a tall redheaded man standing on the raised platform next to the pool table. Well, his hair had been red. Now it was slowly turning gray. Despite his age, he was still a commanding figure, and the room instantly quieted. He spoke, "I am glad to see such a large turnout. Thank you for coming. Now, most of you don't know me. My name is Daniel Elkins, I'm the one who summoned you here. I-"

There came a yell from somewhere in the room, "Cut the monologuing crap, Daniel, we all know what's up!"

Another voice rose, "Yeah, what's this I hear about some massive vamp hunt? Tell us about that!"

"I would be glad to, if you could just let me talk."

"You guys hunting fangs?" Everyone turned to take in the newcomer, standing just inside the door with his hands in his pockets. He was young, perhaps seventeen, with dark skin and handsome looks. But that was not the remarkable thing about him. He had a dangerous glint in his eyes, and a wolfish smile that confirmed the man as a hazard. Daniel stared at him in horror. When he had put out the call for all available hunters, he had hoped to avoid this particular vigilante. It wasn't that he was too young, there were quite a few sixteen to nineteen-year-olds in the room. It was that Gordon Walker terrified him. Many there had heard how he became a hunter a year ago, after his sister was turned into a vampire. Some had heard how he had found her last month. Daniel had been there, and in this moment, all he could think of was that poor girl on the ground, begging for her life as Gordon killed her. Most of all, Daniel couldn't forget the crazed look in his eyes, the maniacal glee as he killed his way through the nest. He shuddered. The man was insane, and he wished he didn't have him on this hunt. Still, as he apparently knew about the hunt, it might be better to have him close by where Daniel could watch him, rather than off somewhere stirring up trouble.

"What? No welcoming committee? Oh well. Just have to find my own way, I guess." Gordon swaggered through the room, clearly reveling in the silent stares from every hunter present. He finally plopped down in a chair, the air considerably tenser then before he walked in. He locked his eyes on Daniel, as though daring him to throw him out. Daniel wanted very much to take him up on it.

"Welcome," He forced out, "We can use all the help we can get. Many of you are aware of the efforts of certain individuals, like myself, over past years to eliminate the vampire threat, with relative success. Now, the last of the nests have banded together and set up a sort of fort, a box canyon in Arizona. That's where they are. That's where I tracked them. Three hundred vampires, the last of their species, and we have this one chance to wipe every last one of them off the map. End this war, for all time. Who's with me?"

The room erupted in cheers, along with a cry for beer that was met with a wet bar rag to the responsible hunter's face from Ellen. Daniel walked off the improvised stage, to backslapping and handshakes from all and sundry. He found himself face to face with John.

It was strange, something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar, the way he moved, or held himself. Then Daniel realized, he bore an odd resemblance to the man that stole the colt from him a decade ago. He wondered if that person was somewhere in this assembly. John held out a hand in greeting.

"John Winchester, nice to meet you." Daniel accepted the handshake.

"Pleasure." He scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of a spiky blond head. The man had seemed like a damn good hunter, the sort they could use on a job like this. After all, not many people could sneak into his house, crack his safe, and steal the colt.

"I'm sorry, am I keeping you?" He looked back at John, "Huh? Oh, sorry, it's nothing. Just distracted for a second, that's all. Excuse me." He turned to another man, "Hey, Matt, you son of a bitch, how you doing?"

"Great. Damn good plan you have here, Daniel."

John looked around, taking it all in. So this was what a hunter army looked like.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hello! Yes, I'm back. Thanks for reading. You guys are awesome! ncsupnatfan: And another review! Thank you so much. Well, it is a vampire battle, essentially, and we all know how tough vamps are under the best of circumstances, let alone a major battle involving Gordon Walker. But…Spoilers! I'm glad you enjoyed Pastor Jim. Here, have another chapter.

Thanks guys!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 12

* * *

Dean sat, frustrated, glaring at the squiggly lines on the paper in front of him, as if to force them to relinquish their secrets through intimidation. Pastor Jim sat down across from him, setting down some sheets of paper next to them. Dean spoke, "What's that?"

"I copied out some things, the alphabet and such, so you can continue to work after you leave. My phone number's at the top in case you need help."

"But I can't read it."

Jim smiled, "Well, we need to fix that, don't we? For now, what's that letter?" Dean tried to focus on the odd-looking symbol he was pointing at, "Um, B...?"

"That's S. Here, I know a good way to remember. It looks kind of like a snake, doesn't it?" The boy squinted. He supposed it did, a bit, "Yeah..."

"Okay. And what sound do snakes make?" Dean looked up, smiling, "Sssss!"

"Very good! So, what sound does the letter make?"

"Sssss."

"Okay. Now let's try the next one."

Castiel watched from the corner. He liked this man. He was kind, godly, the kind of influence the children had all too little of in their lives. He could relax. Dean would be fine.

He felt a great deal of distress coming from the sleeping toddler. Sam worried him. The angels were still uncertain of why Azazal had infected him with demon blood. Not only that, the boy was destined to be Lucifer's vessel. Castiel could only pray it didn't come to that. He reached out to Sam, trying to calm him. No matter what manner of abomination he was, he was still a human child in distress, and the angel couldn't bear to stand idly by any longer. He told himself he wasn't really violating his orders. He wasn't making himself known, wasn't interfering, he was only giving the children some peace. He touched Sam and felt the intense horror of the nightmare. He tried to soothe him, put him into a slightly deeper sleep without dreams, and failed. The toddler would not be comforted, only shifted and whimpered a little in his sleep. He looked at the other occupants of the room, the man of God and the vessel, and made his decision. It wasn't like Sam would remember this when he was older, anyway. He probably wouldn't remember once he woke up. No one would know, and it would help the child. He reached out once more, and slipped into Sam's mind.

* * *

He found himself on a battlefield. Armageddon. He could sense the residual energy of Michael. For some reason, the archangel was gone. He looked about, and saw it. A car was parked to one side, and two men were fighting around it. Well, if it could be called fighting. One was holding the other and beating him mercilessly. Castiel's eyes widened, it was the vessels, and one was occupied. Lucifer was there.

He attempted to move himself to their location, only to find that he was rooted to the spot. What? He looked down. Ah. A vessel. He supposed the boy's demon-blood-infused brain had placed him in a form appropriate to the premonition. He tried to remember how the thing worked. It had been centuries since he had had a vessel. Finally, he remembered, and walked toward the scene.

 _Sam screamed from the floor of his mind. Bobby and Cas were dead, Dean was hurt. Lucifer wouldn't stop hurting him. He just wanted it to stop. He clutched at the archangel, begging him to stop, to leave his brother alone. Lucifer only laughed, and carried on regardless._

 _Dean looked at him, blood dripping from his mouth, "Sammy? Are you in there?"_

 _Lucifer spoke to Dean, "Oh he's in here all right, and he's gonna feel the snap of your bones." Dean fell to the ground. Lucifer spoke, picking him up to hurt him some more, "Every single one. We're gonna take our time."_

 _He could hear Dean, telling him it was okay, that Sam didn't have to be scared, that he was there and everything was going to be all right. He could feel his brother clutching his arm. "Dean," he whimpered, then he felt Lucifer punch his brother again, saw his head snap to the side, even bloodier than before. He just wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop? Why wouldn't it just be over?_

 _"NO! STOP! DON'T HURT HIM! YOU FREAKING BASTARD!" Sam yelled at the archangel in his mind, then collapsed to the floor of his brain, weeping. He couldn't fight any more, he didn't have the strength. Lucifer had won._

 _"Hello." Sam felt an arm fall on his mental shoulder. He looked up into a familiar face, "Cas?"_

 _Castiel cocked his head, confused at the abbreviation, "I am Castiel."_

 _"But you're dead." The angel's blue eyes narrowed in further confusion, "I am not dead, as is demonstrated by my presence here. This is a dream. Your brother is well, as are you. None of this is real."_

 _Sam looked toward Lucifer and laughed dryly. "It sure as hell feels real," the man muttered under his breath._

 _"Push it back. Here, I will help you." They focused, and the horrible scene fell away, replaced with a park._

"Sammy!" Little boy Dean sat on a park bench nearby, beckoning with his arms. Sam, likewise deaged, looked up at Castiel, gratitude shining from his hazel eyes. Then he walked slowly to Dean, who lifted him into his arms, laughing. Castiel felt a smile come to his lips. In that moment he knew he had done the right thing. They were such wonderful creatures, surely this was God's work, comforting the innocents. He departed, content in his actions.

* * *

"Castiel." A voice greeted him as he arrived back in the room. He saw his commander, Anna, and he could feel her anger. "What are you doing?" Perhaps not anger. She seemed more sad and betrayed than anything else.

"I can explain."

"Really. You can explain disobedience? You knew your orders."

"The boy is young. He remembers nothing."

"You made yourself known. You interacted with the humans."

"What does it matter if he does not remember? Are we not meant to be their shepherds? To guide them and care for them? Is that not the purpose for which our Father created us? All I did was comfort a child in distress, who now knows nothing. Is that disobedience?"

She paused, "You know it is. As for him remembering nothing, it is the only reason this will remain a secret. You are to return to heaven at once."

"Anna-"

"You are no longer trustworthy. Remain there until I can speak with you." He looked once more at the humans around them, he had become fond of them. He had fully expected to care for them through to adulthood. He watched them sadly, attempting to commit each feature to memory, then departed, finding himself back home a moment later. Why did he feel such grief? When had he begun to feel emotion? The feelings frightened him, and he wondered if Anna was right, perhaps he had been compromised.

* * *

Sam woke up a little later, happy and refreshed for the first time since... he didn't know. He pulled himself up on the bars of the crib and called Dean.

His brother looked up from his papers, turning around and grinning, before standing and making his way over to the crib. He picked up the sixteen-month-old, lifting him onto his hip and bouncing him a little. Sam giggled, he loved his brother.

"You have a good sleep, Sammy?" The toddler patted Dean's face and squealed, before struggling to get down.

"You want to walk?" Dean set him down, and he slowly made his way to the toys Pastor Jim had provided from the church. His brother joined him on the floor, and they spent the next hours happily playing, blissfully unaware of the confrontation that had occurred.

* * *

A/N: I would like to welcome Misha, Jared, and Jensen briefly as guest stars to this fic. The premonition was from Swan Song, season 5 episode 22.

Extra Note: Those of you reading my other fic, The Strange Case of Sam Winchester, I have run out of chapters to post. I will update as soon as I write more material. If you want to help, send me requests, PM or review. Thanks.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks for reading! The follows were greatly appreciated. L-U-N-A-654: Thank you for your wonderful review. I'm glad you liked it! I feel like I know these characters so well, and they almost seem to write themselves. Thank you for following. ncsupnatfan: I'm glad you enjoyed. Sorry for sweet Cassie getting hurt, it was necessary for plot reasons. Of course he will be back, but… Spoilers!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 13

* * *

John finally located Bobby, sitting at the bar, beer in hand. He slid onto the stool next to his friend, "Hey, Bobby."

"John."

So, who was that?"

Bobby took another swig before looking at him, "Who was who?"

"That kid, the one that walked in during the speech."

"A hunter."

"He showed up the temperature lowered about ten degrees, Bobby. Who is he?"

Bobby's expression sobered and he sighed, "His name's Gordon Walker. He's seventeen, took up hunting a year ago after a thing got his sister, and, no, I'm not going into details. He's a nutcase, not much better than the things he hunts, and he has a track record of getting his partners killed."

John stared at him, "Wow. But, if he's so dangerous, why is he here?"

"I suspect he crashed the party. He's still here 'cause he's too damn dangerous to leave out loose."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he wouldn't hesitate to sic the vamps on us himself behind our backs, if he wasn't in on this and wanted revenge."

"I feel like I'm in a western," John muttered.

"Welcome to the club."

"So, what are vampires like? Stock up on garlic and crosses and stakes?"

Bobby guffawed, "Not exactly…"

* * *

It had been three days, and the hunters were still staked out at the roadhouse, cleaning guns, making plans, and arguing. Daniel had spread some maps of the canyon area on the pool table and he and a group of others were crowded around them. One of them was gesturing angrily, "Daniel, what the hell is this? You want us to march into that?! That's suicide. They can hide up on the canyon walls and pick us off with guns before we could ever get close enouph to use our machetes. This is insane."

Daniel slammed an odd-looking round down on the table, "We'll use these. Like salt rounds, but filled with dead man's blood. Might not kill them, but it'll sure as hell slow them down."

The hunter picked it up, studying it carefully. He looked at Daniel, "You sure this works?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I've used it myself. They don't call me an expert for nothing." The man grumbled, before setting it back down and walking away, "Now, if that's everything, I would like to get down there before they decide to leave."

* * *

Dean sat, brow furrowed and his tongue sticking out a bit in concentration as he attempted to copy the letter in front of him. Sam sat nearby, playing with a stuffed bear and babbling happily. Dean looked up as he heard a car pull up outside. He knew that engine. He smiled. Daddy was back! He jumped up and ran towards the door, in his haste forgetting the toddler calling after him pleadingly. Sam toddled to the door just as it opened, frustrated at the boy who had made him walk the length of the church. Dean didn't notice, he was too busy staring at the door in anticipation, waiting for his idol to walk in. The door creaked open and Daddy walked in, his face a picture of horror. A quick glance revealed no visible wounds, and Dean could only wonder what had affected his father like this. He often came home in some degree of distress, but this… the expression on his face frightened the boy, and he whispered, "Daddy?"

John looked from one child to the other, as though just now seeing them, then sank to the floor and gathered them into his arms, tears welling in his eyes, "Yeah, Dean. It's me."

* * *

 _The hunt had started out well enouph. They had all driven from the Roadhouse to the coordinates Daniel had declared to be the vampires' hideout. It was a box canyon, similar to the one's used for showdowns in old westerns. John stared up at the entrance. He had a bad feeling about this._

 _He saw Daniel pull up out of the corner of his eye, then jump out of his truck and walk-run to collar Gordon, yelling at him for trying to drive ahead. Yeah, this was probably not going to go well._

 _Bobby walked up to him, "Well, waddya think? Is it like you pictured?"_

" _Not really. It's a lot…bigger, for one thing." It reminded him of his tour in Vietnam, actually, just dust and canyon walls instead of jungle. Probably about the same odds of survival, though. From what he understood, he had come in at the tail end of a very long war, and this was the final battle. Hopefully. If he had a dime for all the times he had heard rumors of a 'final battle' back in 'Nam, well, he probably wouldn't be living out of his car. So, who knew what would happen._

 _They made camp that night, and set watches. The last thing they needed was a surprise vamp attack. Most slept in their cars, machetes close at hand, ready to fight at a moment's notice._

* * *

John told Dean to load up the car, and went to greet Pastor Jim, "Thanks, Jim. That was really kind of you, looking after them like that."

"It wasn't any trouble. They're wonderful children. If you ever need someone to take care of them in the future, I want you to know I'd be glad to have them." Dean walked by, duffle in hand, then looked back at Pastor Jim. He dropped the duffle and ran over to throw his arms around the man. John spoke, "Dean, make sure you thank him for taking care of you. He didn't have to do that." Dean looked up, smiling, "Thank you." Pastor Jim smiled back at the child, "It's been a pleasure. Could I talk to your dad in private for a moment?"

"Sure." The boy went back to work, only shooting a cursory glance at the two adults. Jim sighed, turning to John and speaking in a low voice, "So, what happened?"

"Well, we went down there, found the vamps, and wiped them out. What else is there to say?"

"Any casualties?"

"Fair number." He paused, "I'm telling you, I hope I never see another vamp as long as I live. It was horrible. They're so…human."

Jim nodded, "I know. There's a reason I leave those hunts to others. Anyway, at least it's over. I'll see you John."

"Yep. Thanks again." He turned to the boy standing nearby, holding a baby, "You done packing the car?" The boy nodded, "Ok Dean, let's go." They walked out toward the car. Dean looked up at his father, "Daddy, where were you?"

John stared at his son, remembering the awful battle he had come from, "It doesn't matter, Dean. It's over now." Dean would never even have to know of the existence of vampires, for which he was extremely grateful.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hello dear readers! Thank you for the follows and favs. I love you guys! Hundley: Welcome! Glad you enjoyed. Thank you so much for reviewing. I promise there are many more chapters to come.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 14

* * *

It was now November. John sat on the bed of their motel room, weapons spread out around him. His arsenal had grown considerably in the past few months, especially during the vamp hunt. He had been surprised at the number of people that hung around the Roadhouse, not hunters but only too glad to sell to hunters, and he had picked out some guns, knives, and specialized ammo. He set down a freshly polished bronze knife, and picked up one of his newest acquisitions, one he was particularly fond of, a semi-automatic pistol that took silver bullets. This would make things so much easier, there were so many things that required silver to kill, and now he wouldn't have to get close enouph to stab them. He smiled as he tested the safety, then began to disassemble the precious item to clean it.

Dean scrambled up next to him, "What are you doing, Daddy?" John looked down at the boy, "I'm cleaning our weapons."

"Why?"

"Well, stuff gets dirty, and if you don't maintain it all, it won't do its job. See this knife here?" Dean nodded. "Well, it's iron, and iron rusts if it isn't taken care of."

Dean picked up another knife, "What about this one, Daddy? Will it rust?"

John chuckled, "No. That one's silver. Won't rust, but it will get tarnished, which is just as bad." Dean nodded seriously, trying to look as if he understood anything his father had just said. He pointed to the pistol John was taking apart, "What about that?"

"Guns have a lot of moving parts, and they can clog and jam up."

"That's bad, isn't it."

"Yeah." They sat in silence for a moment.

"Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Dean. What is it?"

"Did a monster get Mommy?"

John sighed, "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Are we always gonna live like this?"

"Of course not. This is just until I find the thing that killed her."

"You are gonna find it, right Daddy?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, Dean. That bastard's going to pay for what he did."

Dean smiled, "I'm glad." He looked at the weapons spread around them, "Can I help?"

John considered, "Yeah, sure. You'll have to learn how to do all this eventually anyway."

He handed Dean a sawed-off used for rock salt and began to instruct him on how to disassemble and clean it.

* * *

"Anna please. Perhaps I did act rashly, but-"

"Rashly. Rashly?! You disobeyed. I'd say that goes a bit beyond rashly."

Castiel continued, "I can assure you it will not occur again. I have learned from my mistake. Please, you cannot seriously be proposing that the vessels be left unguarded. What happens if the demons learn the truth about them? Would you leave them to be captured, tortured, because I failed to exercise sufficient self-control, once? Anna." He plead with her, visions of what the demons would do to the children running through his mind. Tests, vivisection, anything else that might possibly tell them what made the vessels tick, especially the elder boy. After all, they would need Sam alive. This was not the case with Dean. The thought of what they would do to him… He couldn't bear to think of it. And it would be his fault.

She paused, "It is not my decision to make. I still have not told you why I came in the first place. The mission has been ended."

"What?"

"Those are the orders I received. Heaven's resources are needed elsewhere. There are things more important in the eyes of Heaven than saving a couple of human children some potential unpleasantness."

"Why would God decide that? He loves humans, children in particular."

"I don't know. I only know that he did. It is not our place to question him."

Castiel remained silent for a moment, then spoke, "Then the order is wrong." He made to leave, a move stayed by Anna's voice behind him, "I know I cannot tell you a reason, but I wish you would trust me, as your commander, as you once did. Please, Castiel, whatever you are thinking of doing, don't."

He paused, considering. After a long moment, he spoke, "Very well. What are my orders?"

* * *

Michael wondered what he was doing, staying in this meeting, listening to Raphael's nearly blasphemous ideas. He suspected that the archangel's true opinions and motives were significantly darker, but what he allowed himself to say was frightening enouph. He reminded Michael of Lucifer sometimes.

Raphael stared at him, "Michael. Are you listening to me?"

 _No, you traitorous, bigoted, arrogant psychopath._

"Of course. I am merely having a difficult time discerning your meaning. What is the problem?"

"Why did you remove the guard we set on the vessels? I thought we agreed they should be protected."

 _Well, I know you've gone behind my back and issued orders on other occasions. I have no intention of giving you the metaphorical blade to stab me with. If you want to take over you're going to have to work for it. I won't position your pawns for you._

"The vessels are safe, and our resources are needed on other fronts."

"Safe? How are they safe? What happens if Azazal discovers the truth?"

 _Then I'll know you're the one who told him._

"How would he discover the truth? Our kind has remained hidden for a very long time. Many demons think us myths by now. The danger is minimal, and they are protected. The Righteous Man is with them."

"Ah, yes. The Righteous Man. Their father. Won't he will be such a marvelous defense if Hell comes for the children."

"And what would you propose?"

 _Yes, please. Go on and tell me your plan._

"Let me rescue them. We can care for them, keep them, protect them. We can raise them in righteousness, teach them about their destiny, and ensure that when the war comes, they are on the right side. Humans are weak, foolish, easily confused. If a child is raised in the way he should go, he will not stray from it when he is grown."

 _You must think me a fool._

Michael boiled. So this was Raphael's plan. Take the vessels and brainwash them to his purpose. The thought horrified him. Destroy the children's lives, raise them as soldiers of heaven, with Raphael in charge of their education, no doubt. And Raphael dared to quote their Father's words in support of such a scheme.

"Our Father would never want such a thing for His children."

"But we can ensure our success. What happens if they refuse their roles?"

"They have not as yet. You have my answer. Dean Winchester is my vessel, and I am ordering you to leave him alone."

"What of the other, the one with the demon blood?"

"He is not to be touched. I removed their guard for a reason. They are to be left alone. Are you prepared to defy me? Are you certain you want that?"

If Raphael had been wearing a vessel he would have smirked, "I don't know, brother. Do you?"

He disappeared and Michael was left alone, fuming. He wished he didn't care quite so much about peace. The day was coming when he would have to fight Raphael, even if they found paradise Raphael would want to rule it, but for now there were greater threats. For now he would smile and laugh and pretend he didn't know his brother to be a traitor. It was extremely frustrating. What was wrong with his brothers? Why was he the only archangel that seemed willing to remain true to God and His plans? Lucifer was preparing to bring hell on earth, Raphael was plotting civil war in heaven, and Gabriel was AWAL. Why did he have to be the strong one? Where was Gabriel? The golden-winged archangel should be by his side, supporting him in this, not…wherever he was. Michael was hemmed in on all sides and he didn't know where to turn.

Desperate for guidance, he prayed, "Please talk to me, Father. I don't know what to do. Just…tell me what to do. Tell me Your will that I might follow it. Please. Father?" No response came. He remained, alone and miserable, wishing he could somehow escape. Why couldn't things be the way they used to? He wanted his family, his Father, his younger brothers, all three of them. Actually, at this point he would even take it the way it had been two thousand years ago, when they had won the Great Victory over Lucifer. He laughed sadly, at the time it had seemed that nothing could possibly be worse, his Father, his Brother, going to hell to defeat his other brother. He remembered it so well, Raphael standing beside him in stony silence, Gabriel screaming and swearing vengeance on those that hurt Christ. The hot-headed archangel had even tried to leave their vantage point to comfort the Man on the cross before Michael restrained him. And then He went to Hell, and… no, Michael couldn't allow himself to think of it any longer. Certainly they had won a victory, but at what cost? The Son had been to Hell, and Gabriel disappeared shortly after that. Still, they had been a family back then, and now- What was he supposed to do? He was staring down another Lucifer in Raphael, the real Morning Star was plotting an escape from the Cage, and his Father was gone. He just didn't know what was expected of him. What did God want?


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading. Hundley: It's December 1984. Dean is five, Sam is nineteen months. John is thirty, Bobby is thirty-two, just too thoroughly clarify. Glad you enjoyed the characterizations of the angels. Thank you for reviewing! ncsupnatfan: Thank you so much for your review. I always look forward to hearing from you. I'm so glad you enjoyed! As for plot… Spoilers! Keep reading.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 15

* * *

Dean heard a knock on the motel door. He stared at it, confused and suspicious. Daddy was after a poltergeist and Dean didn't expect him for at least another two days. It could be the maid, but she was relatively punctual so it wasn't likely. Still, Daddy always told him not to open the door for anyone, and after seeing Terminator the night before, Dean wasn't particularly inclined to disobey. The person pounded on the door again.

"Hey! CPS! Open up, we need to talk to you!" More pounding. Dean stood up. He wasn't sure what CPS was, but he doubted it was anything good. He carefully took the revolver out of Daddy's nightstand and slipped it into the back of his jeans. If a murderous android, or monster of any kind, showed up, at least he would be armed. Not that he had ever fired a gun. Still, no time to worry about that now. The pounding continued as he slowly made his way to the door. He unlocked it and opened it to look up into the face of a large, scary-looking man in a suit. The man smiled, "Hello, young man. Your Daddy home?"

He knew he wasn't ever supposed to tell strangers he was home alone, Mommy had told him that, not that he had ever been home alone before she died, but now he was and he hoped it worked, "Yeah," he said, his voice quavering a little.

"Okay. May I talk to him?" Oh no. What did he say to that? He searched for an answer, "Uh, no. He's in the shower. Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

The man ignored the question, instead cocking his head inquiringly, "I don't hear any water running."

"Uh… yeah, well, uh…"

"I just want to talk to him." The man pushed past him and walked through the motel room. Dean relocked the door and followed him. The man knelt down, "Look, I'm just here to help you. I'm going to take you and your brother to a nice place. Don't you want to go to a nice place?"

Dean hesitated, torn, "What's it like?"

The man chuckled, "Well, there's other kids, like you, and a bed, and a playground and lots of toys, and nice grown-ups who'll take care of you."

He thought. It might be good for Sammy, a good stable place, like home. What if the man wanted to take them home? A vision of his mother rose before his eyes and he felt tears start to well up, "Will Mommy be there?"

The man smiled, "No, but there'll be other nice people. And someone to look after your brother so you don't have to. You'll be happy. You can have friends, and play as much as you want. How about it?"

The man stood, moving away toward the bedroom. Dean thought, it sounded nice. Then he thought of his family. The man had made it clear his Daddy wouldn't be around, Mommy either, and if Sam wasn't going to have Mommy, Dean certainly wasn't going to deny him his other parent. Besides, he didn't trust someone else to take care of his brother, no matter how 'nice' the man might claim them to be. Sammy was his responsibility. Decision made, he walked into the bedroom to find the man reaching for Sam. His blood boiled. The man had no right to go near the child. Dean pulled out the gun, trying to stop his shaking hands. He was terrified and, desperate to hide it, he remembered how action heroes acted. Maybe if he acted like them he would feel braver. He held the pistol out in front of him, "Get away from my brother." His voice wavered but he ignored it. The man glanced at him, pausing and putting the toddler back down as he stared at the gun in surprise, "What?"

Dean cleared his throat, this time sounding a little braver in his imitation, "I said, get the hell away from my brother, you son of a bitch." The man sighed and started slowly toward him, "Come on, give me the gun."

"No."

"Look, I'm just trying to help you."

"Maybe I don't need help."

"You obviously do. Look, a five-year-old, a baby, and a gun shouldn't be left alone in a motel room for days on end. It's not safe."

"Take one more step and I'll shoot."

He stopped, shaking his head and smiling condescendingly. He turned back to Sam's crib, "Yeah, I don't think so."

Dean took careful aim. A shot rang through the small room and the man dropped to the floor, screaming and clutching his thigh. Dean fell to the ground after firing, surprised by the kickback. Sam started to cry. Dean stared in shock for only a moment before tearing his eyes away from the morbid sight. They had to get out. The gunshot was loud and people would show up soon. Thinking fast, he grabbed his duffle and shoved everything into it that he thought he could carry. Pulling a chair to the back window, that thankfully faced onto woods on the edge of town, he climbed up and pushed the window open, before throwing the duffle out and climbing down to grab Sam. Now he was faced with a problem. He could already hear people at the door, and that lock wouldn't hold forever. But how to get Sammy out? Thinking of a solution, he carefully set the boy on the wide windowsill and eased himself out. He landed and turned back to the window, holding out his arms, "Come on, Sammy! Jump!"

Sam looked down. He was terrified, and it looked like a long way to the ground. Dean gestured to him again, "Please, Sammy. I'm sorry but it's the only way. You trust me, don't you? Jump!"

Sam looked back inside at the man, now lying unconscious on the floor. He looked back at Dean's pleading face. He did trust him. He jumped, and Dean fell to the ground as the boy hit his chest.

Dean scrambled to his feet, "Good job! Come on Sammy!" He slung the duffle over his shoulder and grabbed up Sam. Then he ran. He didn't know where they were going, he hadn't the faintest idea what they were going to do, but they couldn't stay there.

* * *

Dean had been wandering aimlessly for hours. It was dark and cold and he was getting very frightened. He stumbled on a root and fell to the ground, then he started to cry. He had been through so much today and he just couldn't take it anymore. He curled up and wept, allowing himself to be vocal in his sobs. He didn't want to be a soldier, he couldn't. He had been strong for so long and he just didn't have any strength left. He was done.

"Dee?"

Sam stared at his brother. It was a strange sight, Dean curled on the ground crying. Actually, he couldn't recall ever seeing it before. He cautiously approached the boy, wondering what to do. How was he supposed to repair this malfunction? He smiled slightly as he remembered what Dean did when Daddy came home from… whatever it was he did. He threw his arms around his hero, "It's otay, Dee." The sobs stopped, "Sammy?" Sam gripped him tighter. Dean was sad. Maybe if he just held him, Dean wouldn't be sad anymore. Being held always helped him when he was sad, after all.

Dean lay, calmed a little by his brother's hug, but it didn't change anything. "Go 'way, Sammy," he said. He just wanted to lay there, crying, until he died. Maybe if he was dead it wouldn't hurt so much. Sam shook his head stubbornly and clung to him, "Dee."

Dean's sobs died to hiccups, and he lay quiet in his brother's arms. He couldn't die. What would Sammy do tonight if he was gone? He had to get them help. Dying could wait. He thought. They needed help. He had a list of emergency numbers he had copied out of Daddy's address book a couple of weeks ago when the man was asleep, and some change he had found in a pair of Daddy's pants in the motel. It wasn't much, but maybe it would be enouph. He thought he remembered a pay phone at a gas station, and he thought he knew how to get there. If he was careful, doing this quickly, in and out, and Sammy stayed quiet, there was a chance he could call someone without being spotted. Decision made, he got to his feet, "Come on, Sammy. We gotta get moving."

* * *

Dean stood inside the small booth, wrestling with the receiver and struggling to reach the numbers. He once again silently thanked Pastor Jim as he read off the numbers and entered them in. The phone started ringing.

He had begun to wonder if anyone was actually going to pick up when he heard a grumpy voice on the other end, "Hello?"

"Uncle Bobby?" He was so happy to hear the man's voice, and his came out rather more wavering then he had intended.

"Un- Who is this?"

"It's Dean. Dean Winchester."

Bobby's voice softened, "Hey, Dean. It's been a while, kid. What is it now, a year? Ten months? What can I do for ya?"

Dean started to cry as the story spilled out, "…I shot him, Uncle Bobby. What am I supposed to do?"

"You said he was CPS?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause, "Okay, first off, where are you? City and state."

"Uh, this town somewhere. Nebraska, I think."

"That's an awful lot of ground to cover, boy. Any way you could narrow it down?"

He thought hard, trying to remember, "Uh, I think it's called Fayetteville, maybe?"

"Fayetteville?"

"You know it?"

"Yeah. Well, no, not exactly, but I did a job there a couple of years back."

"What sort of monster?"

"What sort of-" Bobby paused. Now was not the time to start ranting. Still, he vowed to kick John Winchester's ass next time he saw him. Telling Dean about monsters was just unacceptable. As was leaving them alone to get picked up by CPS. He listened to the five-year-old trying not to sob in fear on the other end of the line. He sighed, "It's okay, Dean. Everything's gonna be okay. Now listen. There's an abandoned house outside town. I want you to wait for me there."

"Okay. Um, how do I get there?"

Dean heard the hunter unfold a map, "Well, that depends. Can you tell me where you are?" Dean described his location as best he could and Bobby gave him directions, "Go there, and stay put until I can get to you. Can you do that?"

Dean nodded, before remembering Bobby couldn't see him, "Y-yes."

"Good boy. See you then." Dean hung up, then exited the booth and walked to the woods, toward the parked baby and duffle.

* * *

Dean walked cautiously into the house. Well, not really a house. It was a two-room cabin that looked ready to collapse any second. He looked at the sleeping Sam in his arms, "Hey, Sammy, wake up. I gotta put you down." Sam whimpered a little and opened his eyes, staring at Dean pitifully, "Dee?" Sam touched his face, almost as if to reassure himself that the older boy was really there.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. Hey, what's wrong, buddy? You have a bad dream?" Sam looked away.

"Whatever. Suit yourself." He set the eighteen-month-old on the floor and started unpacking the duffle. His attention was attracted back to the baby by a loud wail, "Oh, come on." Sam sat, face red, wailing as loudly as he could, well on his way to a tantrum. Dean wished that he could join him.

"Look, Sammy, I know you want to be held, but I have work to do." The screaming intensified. "Sam please," Dean begged. He didn't know how much more he could take. He continued to arrange the room, ignoring the screams as best he could. There wasn't much, he had left most things behind in the motel, there was a limit to what a five-year-old could carry for miles, after all. Suddenly, going through it all, he panicked. Somehow, in all the confusion, he had forgotten to pack any food. What did he do now? Sammy had to be hungry, he knew he was, and Uncle Bobby wouldn't be there for ages. How was he supposed to fix this? He slid down the wall and sat, head in his hands. He was so tired and cold and miserable. He just wanted it all to be over.

Sure enouph, Sam cautiously approached him a few minutes later, "I hugwy, Dee."

Dean looked up at the toddler, his eyes large and sad, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't have anything."

Sam stared at him, lip trembling as he threatened to cry, "But… I hugwy."

Dean's eyes began to swim with tears, "I'm sorry," he repeated, then looked back down, "Please don't ask again."

Sam started to choke out sobs, soulful puppy dog eyes pleading with him.

Dean looked up, annoyed, "All right!" He scrambled to his feet, tucked the gun in his pants, hung his hunting knife on his belt, and made for the door, "I'll be back soon. It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I'll make it okay, you'll see. Just, stay here and… be good. Okay?" Sam nodded. Dean sighed, and walked out the door. Well, he supposed he was going to get some food now, from somewhere.

* * *

He walked down the street, watching the storefronts as he considered his options. He didn't have money, and even if he did he couldn't risk talking to people, not with a price on his head. Besides, it was late, and at this time the podunk town had almost shut down. The streets were empty, and almost all the stores were closed. He eyed one, a convenience store he expected would probably have everything they needed. He shook off his mother's voice, niggling at the back of his mind telling him not to steal. These were special circumstances. Now how to get in.

He looked around and saw a large rock sitting beside the road. He picked it up, testing its weight. It was heavy, but not so much that he couldn't throw it. He eyed the window of the convenience store. He knew from TV he wouldn't have long after the window broke. He would have to be fast to avoid police. Not only that, there would be cameras from which the police could instantly identify him. He could only hope they were sufficiently hidden and that Uncle Bobby appeared before the police found them. He lifted the rock, and threw it.

The alarm was louder than he had expected, but he didn't have time to worry about it. He slid off his jacket and slid it over his hand to protect himself as he cleared a large enouph hole in the smashed window to slide through. He fell painfully to the ground on the other side, then got to his feet, ignoring the cuts gained from the glass littering the floor. Dean grabbed a plastic bag, and made his way through the store, grabbing baby food, diapers, wipes, bottled water, a can opener, and some spagettios for himself, along with a couple of other things they needed. Then he moved a stepladder to the broken window, and left the way he had come, dropping the bag to the ground, then jumping out after it. He hit the ground, then broke into a run. He had to get out of there before the police appeared.

* * *

"Sammy?" He whispered as he walked back into the cabin. Fear clutched his heart as he got no response, "Sammy!" He called, dropping the bag as he ran through the house, desperately searching for the toddler. What if something had happened to him? This house was not particularly stable, and the December weather was freezing. What if Sam had fallen through a rotten spot in the floor, or frozen to death? Tears dripped down his face in his panic as he thought of another possibility, what if a monster had him?

"Sammy!" He called. Finally he heard crying. He ran, following the sound, until he found his brother, curled up beside the wall, crying and shivering desperately. He picked him up, "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay, I'm here now. Here, I'll warm you up." Dean tucked the baby into his coat and made his way back to the bag of groceries, now mostly on the floor beside the bag. He grabbed a thing of baby food and carefully started feeding the toddler, keeping him wrapped up in an attempt to warm him, while praying that Uncle Bobby showed up soon.

* * *

Bobby showed up late the next morning, walking into the cabin to find Dean curled up against the wall, shivering and crying. He knelt down beside him, "Hey kid, how's it going?" He glanced around, "Where's your brother?" Dean opened his coat slightly, revealing a toddler curled into his torso, clutching Dean's shirt in his tiny fists as he stared at Bobby. Dean spoke, "He's so cold."

Bobby's eyes went wide and he cursed as he hurriedly took off his coat. How could he have missed how chilled both children were? He wrapped it around Dean, "What happened?"

"I just went out for a minute. Sammy was hungry, I had to get him something to eat. When I got back-" He sniffed, "I never should've left him. Daddy told me to take care of him." He rested his face in Sam's hair, "I'm sorry, buddy. I messed up." He looked back at the hunter, an expression on his face that broke Bobby's heart, "Is he gonna die?"

The man's face set in determination, "No, not if I have anything to say about it. Come here." He lifted the child into his arms, carrying him to the car and turning on the ignition, "Okay, now I've turned on the heat. You two should be just fine. Just give me a sec while I clean your stuff out." Dean didn't acknowledge his words, merely curled tighter around his brother and pulled Bobby's coat further around him. The hunter smiled slightly as he walked back to the cabin. He loved those kids.

He got in to find the car heated up to a sauna. Looking in the back, he saw Dean was still shivering, albeit, less. He turned on the radio and drove off to the sound of _Janie's Got a Gun_ by Aerosmith.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Hello dear readers! Thanks for reading, and the follows! An unexpected party: Thank you so much. I think what happens in a lot of these fics is that the writers truly hate John, and that comes through in their writing. They do not have a problem turning him into an inhuman monster. He's not. He's just a man, drowning in grief, in the middle of what is essentially a war, with two small children that he doesn't have the slightest idea what to do with or how to take care of. Basically, Mary used to fill the role of dealing with the kids, and dealing with him when he got stressed and angry (He does have something of a temper), but with her gone, he's sort of mentally replaced her with Dean. He's not evil, he's just lost, confused, and doing the best he can in impossible circumstances. I actually based John a lot on my own dad and his relationship with my older sister. Okay character rant over. I'm glad you liked the supporting cast. After all, this isn't only the Winchester's tale, this show has such a rich and complete backstory, I'm sort of trying to tell as many as I can. MaraDixon413: Thank you for your review! My last comments aside, John is a terrible father and I actually wish the boys had ended up in the system. They would have been adopted, together, in a heartbeat, by a loving, functional family who would have treated them like kings. I am very sorry that they had such a terrible childhood. Hundley: Hello again. It is never a good idea to underestimate Dean, particularly not to his face when he's scared and panicking, especially if you're messing with Sam. I figure, apart from taking care of Sam, Dean doesn't have all that much to do and has probably been working with him some on vocabulary. If nothing else, it makes it easier to know what he needs. Glad you enjoyed! ncsupnatfan: Thank you for your review. I love hearing from you. Anyway, glad you like the plot. Keep reading!

Wow! That was a long one.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 16

* * *

Bobby carried the children into the house, closing the door with his foot and setting them down to build a fire in his study. He looked up from his completed work to find Dean standing where Bobby had left him, still clutching Sam. Poor kid. Shock was probably setting in now the adrenaline had worn off. Five-year-olds just weren't meant to go through stuff like that. Bobby stood up, "Okay, kid, I'm done here, why don't you go find you and your brother something to eat while I get your stuff in, huh?" Dean nodded heavily and started toward the kitchen.

Bobby called after him, "Hey, kid!" Dean turned back.

"You did good back there. Your Daddy would be proud of you." The boy smiled and kept walking, his step significantly lighter. Bobby chuckled and went to unload the car.

* * *

He reentered the kitchen to find Dean feeding his brother chicken and rice baby food. Sam did not seem particularly thrilled with the arrangement.

Dean held the spoon towards the baby, "Come on, Sammy. Just one bite." Sam turned his head to the side to avoid the spoon as it approached. The boy tried again, and Sam kept his mouth closed, lifting his head up to look at the ceiling. Dean sighed, "Please? You need to eat." Sam stared at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he batted the spoon away, sending the food all over Dean's face. "No!" yelled the toddler. Dean's eyes closed and he gave a heavy sigh, "Okay, let's try this again." He held out the spoon, "Eat."

"No." The brothers locked eyes in a silent battle of wills.

Bobby decided to make his presence known, "I'd say your brother has a new favorite word."

Dean glanced at him, "Yeah, maybe."

"I'd also say, judging from the standing ovation you got going there, he ain't particularly fond of the menu."

"Yeah, but, what am I supposed to do? He has to eat."

Bobby thought for a second. "Why don't we give him a little break. Who knows, maybe the idjit'll decide he's hungry if you're not pushing it at him."

Dean stood up hopefully, "You think so?"

"Yeah. He's a stubborn ass, but he's just fishing for attention. Come on, I got something to show you."

Dean pulled away as they started to leave the room, "Is Sammy gonna be okay by himself?"

"Yep. Kitchen's baby-proofed, made sure of it 'fore I left to get you boys. And-" He took an expandable baby gate from next to the study side of the doorway and set it up, "The monster is contained. That should hold him." Bobby lifted the boy over the fence and carried him upstairs, setting him down outside a closed door.

Dean gasped as the door opened. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. He looked up at Uncle Bobby, his eyes wet with joy. His voice caught, "Thank you." He walked inside, gazing around and treading softly, afraid he would wake up to find it all a dream. It was a bedroom. A small, short-legged wooden bed sat against one wall, attached to it a crib with abnormally low sides. Shelves lined the walls, filled with toys and children's books. There was even a small dresser. He stared back at the man who had put all this together, ignoring the tear that escaped his control to roll down his cheek.

Bobby spoke, "I built it after your last visit. Your Daddy said he might leave you two here sometimes, and, you know, I figured I should have someplace to stash you when you kids were here. I-" Dean ran to hug him, tightly. He hadn't had a room since the fire, and Uncle Bobby had put so much care and effort into this. He didn't think he had ever felt so loved.

Bobby continued talking awkwardly, "I made everything little so you could reach it, and, I uh, I figured you'd want to have the crib's sides low so you could check on your brother. It ain't much, but, uh, I guess it's someplace to sleep." Dean ignored everything the man was saying. He didn't care about excuses, this was the best day of his new life, and he wanted to enjoy it. And he was going to start by sleeping in a real bed.

* * *

Anna watched a group of human children, chasing each other about a playset at a park somewhere. Their lives seemed so simple, so uncomplicated compared to hers. She wished she were one of them. Castiel's words kept spinning round and round in her mind. She had even found herself wondering if he was right. She did remember a time, long ago, when they had been humanity's shepherds, their caretakers, meant to guide them and help them along the right path. And now? What were they now? She wasn't even sure she knew anymore. She was to follow orders, to do otherwise was sinful, but what if the orders themselves were sinful? She didn't think that was possible, but lately… some of the orders she had received made her wonder. What was right? She tried to quiet her mind, force it to block out the treacherous thoughts, but she couldn't stop. She kept thinking these things, kept coming back to this park, no matter how hard she tried to stay away. What did God want? Was he even there anymore? Did he even exist?

* * *

John returned to the motel a couple of days later. He stared at the police cars and crime scene tape strewn everywhere. "Dammit," He whispered, grabbing his FBI badge and exiting the car. The sheriff approached him, "Agent Campbell. What are you doing here? I thought you had everything you needed."

"Well, I thought I did. What happened here?"

The sheriff motioned for him to follow, "I don't think this has anything to do with your case." He led him past crime scene tape into John's motel room. "Happened two days ago. Couple of kids. Someone called in that they were living here alone, CPS guy came out, got shot."

John crouched beside the dark stain on the floor, "Really? How bad?"

"Just in the leg, but bad enouph. He's lucky the gunshot attracted attention. He was unconscious when help arrived. Blood loss. Damn kid locked the door."

John nodded. At least his lectures about locking the door had taken hold. Of course, Dean never should have let the man in in the first place. "And the kids…"

"Gone. Went out the window and bolted." He straightened up, "Well, thank you, sheriff. I'll let you know if I need anything else. You know, anything I can do to help…"

"Yeah. We all want these kids found. Hey, uh, how about a drink before you go? There's a good place a couple of blocks over." John glanced around, noting his belongings spread around the room. He didn't think there was much important, but it was still annoying. He turned back to the officer, "You know what? That sounds great. How about, uh, you go on, I'd like to look around some more."

"Okay. Not sure what you hope to find but, uh, help yourself. See you soon."

"Yeah. One other thing. Could I have the CPS guy's name?"

"Sure."

He wrote down the man's name, then the sheriff left. John looked around, there were almost no officers in the room, it was lunch break, and the crime scene was a couple of days old. Those that were there were wrapped up in their work and didn't seem to have even noticed his presence. The coast was, more or less, clear.

He wandered around the room, trying to look like he was investigating. He couldn't take everything, just what he could fit into his coat without it being immediately missed. He slipped his journal from its hiding place under the mattress and slipped it into the inner pocket on his overcoat. He didn't care if they noticed that was gone or not, he wouldn't leave it. He eyed the rest of the room's contents, trying to decide what to take.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for not posting, I just moved into college and was busy with orientation. Thanks for reading! I cannot believe how much traffic this has gotten. 1,076 views and 320 visitors _this month!_ You people are so amazing! Hundley: Thank you for your repeated reviews. I greatly appreciate continuous feedback. Well, Anna's questioning is definitely leading _somewhere_. As to where… I can't answer that. :) Cassie, of course, has a long journey ahead of him, just like all of our characters. In case you haven't noticed, I adore Bobby. He is the most amazing person ever, and I love him. I also know that in the series they had a bedroom at his house, so I thought maybe that started early on with furniture and what not being changed out as they got older. I also agree with you, he definitely has a soft spot for Dean. Not a favorite, exactly, just a soft spot. I'm glad you enjoyed. ncsupnatfan: What is this now, your… seventh review? I LOVE YOU! As I mentioned in my comment to Hundley, they had a room there in the series, which I have a headcanon that Bobby put together when he realized he was going to have these little lost boys around all the time. It's the sort of thing Bobby thinks of, understanding and noticing Dean's need for a home, for a room of his own that is more than a place to sleep, and acting on it. It kind of became canon for me when I saw Dean's reaction to the bunker, and having his own room there. As far as John, yep, absolutely. Thank you for understanding the point I was making. By the way, just warning you now, it gets a little rough in the next few chapters, so hold on tight.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 17

* * *

"Hiya, Bobby!"

Bobby glared at the phone, "I thought I told you not to call me."

The voice was unfazed, "All charm as usual. Listen, I need a favor."

"Why the hell would I give you a favor? Eat dirt and die, Rufus, I have a gun and I'll use it."

The other hunter ignored him, "I need you to do some research. Empousa."

"What the hell are you doing hunting one of those? You in Greece? This call better not be collect."

"There are things called planes. She emigrated, Bobby. I'll tell you what else, she is on my ass, and she is pissed! I need help, pronto! Now get your ass out of that chair and tell me what to do!"

Bobby hung up and sighed, "Frigging idjit."

"Who was that?" Bobby looked down to see Dean staring up at him, "Nobody."

"Didn't sound like nobody."

"Hunter. Wanted some research."

"Can I help?"

Bobby watched him for a moment. Dean spoke, almost defensively, "I can read. Please?"

Seconds continued to tick by, Bobby sighed again, "Sure, whatever. Why not."

Dean grinned and ran to the nearest bookshelf, "So, what are we looking for?"

"Empousa, or Empousai if it's talking about more than one."

* * *

Dean sat some time later, struggling to read a hefty tome of lore. He read aloud, following his place with his finger, "The…Em-poo-sah-ee were thought to be… um… demons… and di- di-mi-gods by the… the… an…an- What's that word, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby leaned over to look where the boy was pointing, "Ancient."

"What does it mean?"

"Uh, old, a long time ago."

"Then why don't they say that?"

Bobby returned his look, "I don't know. Keep reading, you're doing great."

"- the old, um… Greeks. They prey on young men, drinking their blood and eating their… what's 'flesh'?"

"Doesn't matter. How about we skip down. That thing say anything about how to kill them?"

"Uh…" He slowly read further, "Found it! The Em-poo-sah-ee will scream and run at the… sl-i-ght-est in...sult."

"Anything else?"

"There's a number, uh, 4."

"Okay, that's footnotes. Look at the bottom of the page. There should be numbers. Find the '4'"

"Um… There!"

"Good. Now read what it says next to it."

"For more in…in-for-ma-tion, see M.O.L. ar-chive."

"Balls!"

Dean looked at him, "What's 'archive', Uncle Bobby?"

"Bad news."

"What's 'M.O.L.', Uncle Bobby?"

"Where all the good lore is, apparently. It's shown up before in other books."

The phone rang. Bobby picked it up.

"You have that research yet, Bobby?!"

"Try insulting her."

"What?! This thing is trying to kill me Bobby! Stop joking around!"

"Just going with the lore. You don't like it, stuff it and get killed. See what I care."

"Fine." Rufus turned away from the phone, "Hey, bitch! Yo' momma's a sorry sack o' black smoke!" He spoke back into the phone, "Didn't work. Now she's really pissed. Got anything else?"

Bobby spoke to Dean, "Didn't that book say the Greeks thought they were demigods and demons?"

Dean found the section, "Uh, yeah."

"Hey, Rufus! Try, um, how about… sharp iron bar. Like a stake, but iron. And salt."

"Where am I supposed to find that?!"

"I don't know! Just find it!"

"Okay. This better work, Bobby." The line went to dial tone.

* * *

John stopped by a motel and requested a room. Apparently, he was going to be in the area awhile longer, and he didn't really want to sleep in his car like he often did on hunts. He unpacked into the room, noting the things that had been lost to the police that he would need to replace. He sat on the bed for a moment, just thinking, before picking up his journal to record the day's events. However he didn't get any further than the inside of the front cover, his gaze lingering on the 'HW' engraved in the corner. Rage rose within him. It was strange that such an old wound could ache so badly. Still, it did. The frustrations of the day combined with his anger and he jumped to his feet, suddenly hurling the journal across the room against the wall with all the force he could muster, "DAMMIT!"

He stood where he was, breathing heavily. He wasn't his father. That bastard might have abandoned him, but he would never, NEVER do that to his sons. He would find them. He would. He would find them, and they would be all right, and he would yell at Dean for making him worry. After he hugged them. He would never be Henry Winchester, leaving his son with only his usual cryptic, noninformative, "I'm going to work," and no explanation, to run around fulfilling his own selfish desires. He would find his sons, and he would protect them for the rest of his days.

* * *

Bobby was sitting in his study a few hours later, translating an ancient lore book and sipping a beer, when he heard yelling.

"Don't take that off! I'm warning you! Don't- Put your diaper back on! I mean it! You rotten little- get back here!"

Then he heard running. This was shortly followed by the sight of a very naked Sam. The toddler paused near Bobby's desk, staring at him wide-eyed. Dean's voice drifted in.

"Just wait 'til Daddy hears about this! Where are you?!"

Sam looked alarmed, before glancing around wildly and running off toward the kitchen. Dean walked into the study, "Have you seen Sammy? He's gone." Bobby pointed toward the kitchen. Dean stalked off in that direction.

"There you are!" Then proceeded the sound of more running, followed by a crash, then a triumphant yell from Dean and Sam screaming.

"Ow! That hurt! Don't bite me!"

Dean stalked past the study, a screaming, squirming Sam under his arm, fighting wildly, biting, kicking and throwing punches. The pair disappeared up the stairs.

Bobby took another swig from his beer.

"Idjits."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hello everyone! CarverEdlundtheLast: Nice to meet you. Always wonderful to see a new face. I'm glad you've liked it so far. It's a tightrope the show navigates well, balancing fluff and humor with serious angst and heartache. I am attempting to replicate that wonderful Supernatural tone in this fic. Hope you continue reading! ncsupnatfan: I'm glad you liked the scene. It's one I enjoyed writing. I'm pretty sure there's a reason Bobby doesn't really seem to react to any of their familial drama in the show. He's been hearing it for a very long time. As far as John, I won't give you any spoilers, but it is the '80s, technology is a little bit less advanced than it is now, and John does not have a permanent address.

* * *

Chapter 18

* * *

John closed the door, staring down at the hospital bed of the person that had started this mess. He was a slight, rather pale young man, sleeping peacefully as an IV pumped painkillers into his system. John wanted nothing more than to punch him. He whispered, "How could you do it, you son of a bitch?" Mentally he added, "If they're hurt, I swear I'll kill you." He cleared his throat loudly, to no result.

Finally the man slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times and lazily turning his head to see John, who flicked open his FBI badge, "Agent Campbell. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

He looked around, bewildered, "What?"

John spoke slowly and distinctly, as though to a child, "I'm with the federal government. You're Andrew Black, right? I need to ask you about those children that went missing. On your watch. Any of this ringing a bell?" He was being a jerk, and he knew it, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

Andrew nodded vaguely, "Yeah. Okay," he gestured with his hand, "Go ahead agent. Sorry, the meds, I'm a bit… go ahead."

John nodded, and took out a notepad and pencil, "Okay, first, who sent the call?"

"Um, guy who ran the motel. Said there were a couple of kids living alone in one of his rooms. I'm sorry, that's all I know."

"Right. And it was, it was one of the kids that shot you."

"Yeah."

He smiled mockingly, "You were taken down by a kid?"

"Yeah. He had a gun, I went for it, he shot me in the leg. It's the sort of tragedy that sometimes happens in this job."

John smiled and arched an eyebrow sardonically at the notepad, "Yeah, 'tragedy.'" It was so sad that the jerk got shot, he thought sarcastically.

"Yeah. For the kid. Having to shoot someone. I wish he hadn't had to go through that."

John made a note on his paper, "And could you describe your assailant?"

The man chuckled slightly, "Right, 'assailant.' Agent, first of all, I want to get one thing straight, this boy isn't a criminal. He's a frightened child who acted out of fear and fight-or-flight. That's all. You must understand, most of these children are coming from broken, neglectful homes. They're half-wild, doing whatever they think is necessary for survival. That's why they have to be removed into the system. It's for their own protection. I don't blame the boy for what he did, a child of that age, in his situation, is not responsible for his actions. So, I don't want you going into this thinking of anything but the welfare of the children. Okay?"

John wanted to strangle him. How dare this man sit there pretending to care about Sam and Dean when this was his fault. They could be dead or worse, and he had the nerve to lecture John on kindness, "Just describe the damn kids."

"Okay. Both boys, Caucasian, absolutely beautiful. You know, the sort that would find families in a heartbeat, probably together. The older one, he's the one that shot me, about five or six, shaggy blond hair, green eyes I think…" He described both boys, in detail. John asked him a few more questions, but it became rapidly apparent that he knew nothing of import. John wrapped up the interview and left the room as quickly as possible.

The man spoke as he left the room, "I hope you find them. I'd hate to see anything bad happen to them. I mean, I feel kinda responsible, you know? I just wish I could do more."

John paused in the doorway, "I think you've done plenty already, don't you?"

* * *

He went to get some lunch, then returned to the motel crime scene. It had now been four days since the incident, two days since John had started searching, and he was getting desperate. He walked in, staring at the open window. He walked over to study it.

It was a normal window, with a wide sill and a view into the woods beyond. He climbed through, trying to determine the logical course of action from that point. He sighed. Nothing. To find them this way would take a skilled tracker and probably a dog. Fortunately, he knew someone who would be likely to know where to find one.

He struggled with his decision, even as he asked a policeman where to find the nearest payphone and walked over to it. He stood, glaring at the glass booth. Did he really want to get Bobby involved? The dick would rant at him for at least thirty minutes before getting down to any kind of business, and would probably hold this over him for the next ten years. John cursed under his breath as he got inside and closed the door, then inserted his quarters and punched in the number.

He listened to it ring for a while, then a voice sighed into the phone, "This is Bobby Singer. Whoever you are, leave me the hell alone."

"Bobby, it's John. Listen, it's an emergency."

"John. Just who I was hoping would call. I got something to tell you."

"Yeah. Not right now, Bobby. Look, it's about the boys-"

"Yeah, I know."

"They've disappeared and- What?"

"I know." Bobby looked over to where Dean sat on the couch, Sam curled against his side as Dean read him a children's book. "They're with me. They're fine."

"And you didn't think to let me know?!"

"I'm sorry, is there some secret John Winchester direct hotline that I don't know about? 'Couse I don't have that number."

John sighed, he was furious at the man, but he didn't really have a right to be. "Fine. How long have they been up there?"

"Four days. Dean called me the day this whole thing started. I drove down that night to pick them up."

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me."

"Hey, you get a car phone, you can bitch all you want. Meantime, shut up."

"Fine, Bobby. I'll be up tomorrow to get my kids."

"Okay." John hung up, then exited the booth, walking back to the Impala. Now he knew they were all right, his concern turned to anger. He hit the steering wheel. Why did Dean go to Bobby instead of him? Why did he have to let that idiot with CPS in? That kid had ruined everything.

* * *

Dean smiled as he heard the Impala pull up outside Bobby's house. He heard the car door slam, then gravely footsteps on the area in front of the house.

He ran to greet his father as he walked in the door, "Daddy!"

"There you are, you rotten kid. Come here." Dean's mouth fell open in shock as John grabbed one of his outstretched arms and half-carried half-dragged him out the door.

Dean was starting to be frightened as John took him around to the back of the house, into the gravel salvage yard where Bobby kept the scrap cars, piled ten or more high all over the lot. "Daddy, what's going on? Daddy!" John whirled him around, "How could you do that?!"

"Do what?"

"I gave you an order! Stay in that room, don't talk to anyone. One damn order, and you, you dumb kid, you couldn't follow it! Do you have any idea how worried I was?! I thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry! I stayed inside, I promise!"

"Really. Then how did the manager know you were alone in that room? Now we have CPS on our asses, and it's your fault!"

"I don't know how he knew. I'm sorry." Dean held back tears. He wouldn't cry. Only babies cried.

"Stop saying that! You made this mess!" He paced a little, "You know, is it really too much to ask, a little responsibility? A little obedience and respect? I give you a home, food, love, and this is how you repay me? You ungrateful brat!"

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Sorry's not good enouph!"

"Well then, what do you want?" Dean meant it. If an apology wasn't sufficient, what did Daddy want?

John backhanded him hard across the face, sending the boy down onto the gravel. Dean tasted blood in his mouth and spat out a front tooth. Already loose, it had been shaken from its remaining moorings by the force of the blow. "Don't you get fresh with me, boy! You smart-ass piece of crap!" Dean began to sob, unable to control the tears. What was happening? Daddy had never struck him before.

"What? Baby gonna cry? I'm going easy on you. I should wear you out and hand your worthless ass over to child services, you pathetic, no-good..." He trailed off, breathing hard, seemingly out of steam.

Dean looked up, then down again, unable to bear the look of disappointment in his father's eyes, "I'm sorry."

John shook his head, "Shut up." Then he turned away and walked back toward the house.

Dean put his head in the dirt and cried. He wished he was dead. Why did he have to ruin everything? Was he really worthless? He stayed there a long time, John's words whirling around in his head.

* * *

Bobby came downstairs as John slammed in, obviously fuming. The man stopped in front of a table, staring at it, as though about to flip it over, then just pushed everything off of it instead, a string of curses coming out of his mouth. He leaned heavily on the table, then went into the kitchen for a few minutes, before disappearing further into the house with a beer. Bobby walked into the kitchen to see a couple of empty bottles on the counter. He threw them away, then returned to his desk to continue his translation.

It was some time later that Bobby heard the door creak open, quietly, timidly, accompanied by a soft but constant sound of crying. He watched as Dean slowly walked inside, then closed the door. The boy looked straight at him for a moment, then bolted upstairs. Curious, and concerned that this display might be related to the one shown earlier by the elder Winchester, the hunter made his way upstairs, not bothering to knock as he entered the boys' room. Dean lay on the bed, sobbing into the pillow, as though terrified for the sound to be heard. He shied away as Bobby reached for him, crying out and raising his hands defensively as he cowered. "I wasn't crying," he said defiantly.

Bobby gently lowered the child's arms, taking his blood-smeared face into his hands to study, "What happened, kid?"

Dean swallowed, "I… I fell outside. Cut myself on the gravel." Well that was obviously a pack of lies. He was missing a tooth, he had a split lip and more blood coming out of his mouth, and gravel didn't leave a hand-shaped bruise on a person's face. Still, he knew better from his own childhood experience than to call him on it. "Yeah. Hurt's, don't it? Here, you're kind of a mess. How 'bout I pull up a nice bath, and we can get all that dirt and stuff off." Dean pulled away, climbing off the bed, "I can do it."

"You sure? It's no tr-"

"I said I can do it! I don't need help, I'm not a baby!" Dean stormed out, trying, and failing, to slam the door behind him. Bobby stayed behind, sitting on the bed, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next. There wasn't really a handbook for this kind of thing, after all.

Sam toddled up from where he'd been hiding in a corner of the room, holding out his arms to be held.

Bobby shook his head and picked him up, "You're just as confused by this damn family as I am, ain't cha, kid?" Sam looked up at him inquiringly, reaching up a hand to tug on his beard. Bobby sighed, and continued to sit with the only Winchester who seemed to make any sense. "'Least you don't have any issues yet."

* * *

Bobby found John some time later, sitting on the couch, still drinking. He grabbed John by the collar and led him outside, John complying more out of shock than anything else.

"What the hell, Bobby? Get off me!" Bobby grabbed him by the front of his leather jacket, "How could you do it? Do you have any idea what you've just done to that poor kid?"

John appeared unfazed, "Dean tell you what happened?"

"Yeah. He 'fell on the gravel.'"

"Well, that's what happened."

"Bullcrap! Do I look like a natural born idjit? No? Then don't insult my intelligence!"

John pushed him away, "I'll do as I like with my own damn kids!"

"Not under my roof."

"Oh, you're not one of those, 'spoil the child and to hell with the rod' people, are you?"

"Not unless your 'rod' involves giving a five-year-old a bloody mouth."

"That was an accident."

"Really? Don't look like an accident."

"Kids have to be disciplined sometimes!"

"For what? What did he even do? He saved Sam's life!"

"Yeah, and it wouldn't've been a problem if he hadn't let the damn fed in in the first place."

"Are you even listening to yourself? You left them alone! What choice did he have?"

"Well then why did he have to shoot the man? He could've just talked himself out of it."

"He's five!"

"He has a responsibility to this family not to get us all in trouble. Now look at the mess he's made! How am I supposed to get us out of this?!"

Bobby paused, shaking his head, "You are one cold-blooded son of a bitch, you know that? Whatever, I won't let you hurt him again."

"They're not your kids!"

"And this ain't your house!"

John watched him for a moment. "Fine." He stormed off into the house, Bobby at his heels. Dean was in the kitchen, getting something to eat.

"Pack your crap, Dean. We're leaving." Dean stared at John a moment in shock. "That's an order, Dean. NOW!" The boy flinched and startled at the words, then ran upstairs. Bobby stood, glaring at John. John gave him a defiant look.

As they drove off _You Give Love a Bad Name_ by Bon Jovi came on the radio.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Hello everyone, thanks for reading! First off, the song at the end of the previous chapter was mistakenly identified as _Shot to the Heart_ by Bon Jovi. It is in fact _You Give Love a Bad Name_ also by Bon Jovi. It has now been corrected in the story. Thank you for understanding. CarverEdlundtheLast: As I mentioned, that's a different song. They are apparently commonly confused. My fault. Please listen to it as I put a lot of thought and effort into the songs in this fic and really want people to listen. THANK YOU FOR LIKING IT! I promise I will get the next chapter up soon. I am a lot more busy now I'm in college, but I am committed to this fic, and I am determined to see it through to the end. Hundley: I warned everyone last chapter that it would be getting rough. John was not the monster many authors portray him as, nor was he by any stretch of the imagination a good father. I will not make him evil, because he wasn't, but I won't sugarcoat his character either. Of course Dean got a lot of good from him, but he also got a lot of bad. As I mentioned in my response to  an unexpected party in chapter 16: "He (John) is just a man, drowning in grief, in the middle of what is essentially a war, with two small children that he doesn't have the slightest idea what to do with or how to take care of. Basically, Mary used to fill the role of dealing with the kids, and dealing with him when he got stressed and angry (He does have something of a temper), but with her gone, he's sort of mentally replaced her with Dean. He's not evil, he's just lost, confused, and doing the best he can in impossible circumstances." Yes he made mistakes, yes he abused Dean, verbally and physically, yes he is a major reason Dean is a mental mess with literally no self-esteem. But he is also a good human being who loves his sons more than anything in the entire universe and later went to Hell for Dean without a second thought. Basically what happened was he got stressed and worried and really really scared and lashed out. Dean happened to be the one in his way. It was a crime of passion, he will calm down and think, and we will see more of the aftermath of this and how it affects the various characters. Keep reading! MaraDixon413: John has not made himself very likable this chapter, has he? What will happen? We shall see…

* * *

Chapter 19

* * *

Mark Harris sighed in relief as he prepared to leave from another long day at the office. It wasn't that he hated his job, he actually enjoyed being a literary agent. And things were going well. He had money in the bank, his kids were doing well in school, and he and his wife Alice were getting back together. He was just tired, emotionally and physically. A presence in the vent sensed that weakness, along with his two-month separation from his wife, and prepared to pounce.

Mark turned to get his briefcase and stopped, frozen in shock, "The hell…"

A long thick trail of red smoke snaked out of the air vent as he watched. By the time he gathered the presence of mind to run, it was too late. The smoke poured into him, pushing Mark into the furthest corners of his mind and putting him unconscious. His eyes flashed red, then were normal again.

"Not all of it, just part."

The creature walked over to the mirror, studying his face as though examining a new outfit at a store, "Hm. Not bad." He looked down, "Have to do something about the suit though. Bloody hell, what did he pay for this thing, twenty dollars? Doesn't anyone have a sense of style anymore?" He sighed, "Like the body though. Suppose I'll just have to get in touch with my tailor, get some things." Crowley grinned into the mirror and chuckled before walking out, turning off the office lights as he left.

* * *

John took Dean to a barbershop a few days later, after the bruise had healed, to get his hair cut. The CPS guy had gotten a really good look at Dean and, while it was unlikely they would see him again, John wanted his son to look as different as possible. Dean thought it was all very exciting. He was a fugitive, getting a disguise to hide his true identity! Long hair was hard to take care of anyway. Mommy used to deal with it, making him sit still as she combed through the long locks, often singing or telling him a story to keep him from fidgeting. He wished she were here now. He would never squirm, just sit and let her brush it, listening to her voice forever. He stared at the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. He guessed it was okay, he'd get used to it.

John took them out for ice cream afterwards. He was feeling guilty about his blowup at Bobby's, and this was his way of trying to make up for it. He remembered all the times his temper had gotten him in trouble before. Back before Mary died, he'd come back from a stressful day at work, then get angry at Mary when everything wasn't perfect. Those fights generally ended with him storming out as Mary yelled at him. Then he'd go get drunk, staggering home sometime late that night. Mary would then proceed to ignore him the entirety of the next day. Unlike Dean, she never put up with any of his nonsense. _Oh, Mary, where are you? I've made such a mess of everything. What do I do? How do I even begin to fix this? Come home, I need you._ He looked at Dean, currently feeding Sam a small spoonful of his portion of ice cream.

"Yeah, there you go. Good, isn't it, Sammy?" Sam smiled and reached towards Dean's bowl. Dean slapped his hand playfully with a spoon, "Hey! Get your own!" The puppy dog eyes were unleashed and the little boy sighed, "Fine. Here." The sweet scene continued. Dean looked over at his father, and John's heart broke at the walls that instantly seemed to snap into place, "Daddy? Aren't you gonna finish your ice cream?"

"What? Uh, I don't know, sport. I don't think so."

"Then can I have it?"

"Yeah, sure." Dean reached cautiously across the table, grabbing it and pulling back to him quickly as though worried John would suddenly change his mind. Once more John wished his wife were there.

* * *

Mary stood in the front room of her house, watching the new family unpack. She supposed this was better than the house standing vacant, and they had children. A boy and a girl, the same ages Sam and Dean would be by now. Those could be her children. If the parents were gone- She stopped that thought mid-sentence. No way was she going vengeful. Nope. Not happening. It could be years before John came back, and she didn't need to be taken out by a hunter, or hurt someone, before that could happen. Those weren't her kids, and the best thing she could possibly do was stay here and protect this family until she had a chance to talk to her own. She was also working hard to develop her ghost abilities. Not when the family was around, of course. No sense scaring them more than necessary. With them there, she mostly worked to find what was tying her here. She didn't have remains, the fire had been far too thorough for that, so it had to be an object, if she could just find it! Thus far her efforts had been unsuccessful. It had to be in the basement, that was the only part of the original house still standing. For now, though, she was content to rest and watch this family's children play. She smiled. The boy reminded her so much of Dean, the way he took care of his sister and tried to help with the move-in wherever possible. She hoped her boys were okay. John had never been very good with kids, and now this had been forced on him. She remembered her adult children, tall, handsome, smart, wonderful young men, standing in front of her, begging her to leave John. _There is a big difference between dying and never being born, and trust me, we're okay with it, I promise you that._ Thinking that her wonderful, sweet Dean could have possibly had such a terrible life that he would ask that of her… she couldn't bear it. Surely it couldn't be John's fault though, could it? And the future wasn't set in stone, if she could just get to them, just help them… Was it John's fault?

* * *

Dean lay in bed, sobbing quietly. He didn't want to, but Daddy's words kept whirling around in his head, visions of Daddy's angry face as he hit him, memories of the pain that followed. His cheek and jaw still ached, even though the bruise had faded. He felt a pair of small arms encircle him, "It's otay, Dee."

"Go 'way, Sammy." He felt bad about ignoring the kid since leaving Uncle Bobby's, but he really didn't have the strength to deal with him lately, or anyone. Sam tightened his grip, "No."

"Dammit, Sam! I said gO AWAY!" he whirled to a sitting position, pushing Sam away. The toddler fell off the bed, looked slightly confused, then started to cry. He stood, holding out his arms and giving Dean his most convincing puppy dog eyes, even more lethal when viewed through tears, "Dee…" he called plaintively.

Dean ignored him, turning over on the bed and continuing to cry.

And so passed Christmas, 1984.

* * *

John sat in a bar, listening to Jingle Bell Rock, finishing his sixth (seventh, eighth?) beer. He had no business being there, he had a case, not to mention two kids waiting, but it was Christmas, so he would spend the time doing what he always did on holidays these days: getting drunk until he was so plastered he couldn't miss Mary anymore. Not only that, there was Dean. He couldn't bear to go back to that motel room, not after what he'd done. He couldn't bear to look into Dean's eyes, full of pain and accusation. He wasn't even sure he wasn't imagining the accusation. He was probably just torturing himself. He had tried a few times to apologize, but so far he hadn't been able to get the words out, and he had ended up doing his very best to avoid the child instead. So here he sat, drinking like a loser, wallowing in self-pity and regret.

"Hello, handsome."

John looked over to see who had spoken. A beautiful dark-haired woman sat on the stool next to him, blatantly checking him out. He smiled. He didn't know if it was the loneliness or the alcohol, but he was currently quite willing to see where this led. Even if he felt like he was cheating on Mary just talking to her. "Who are you?"

She smiled seductively, "Alison. And what might your name be?"

"I'm John." He looked her over, "You look nice. Come here often?"

"Often enouph. Mostly I'm here 'cause my jerk of a boyfriend just broke up with me and I'm looking for company. You know, Christmas." He nodded.

"So, now I've spilled my guts, what brings you here?"

He glanced at her, "'Bout the same. Christmas, lonely, looking for company."

Her eyes raked over him again, "Sounds like we're looking for the same thing."

He met her gaze, "Sounds like."

"You wanna… I don't know, see if we can find it?"

He leaned in, giving her a flirtatious smile, "Are you asking me for sex?"

She looked playfully thoughtful, "Why, yes John, I do believe I am." Her eyes slid over to look at him as she smiled, "My place?"

And in that moment all his doubts melted. He no longer cared what was pushing him toward Alison. If it was the alcohol, or trying to forget Mary, or the mess he had made with Dean, or just the fact that he hadn't been with a woman in well over a year, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the here and now and that she was pretty and he wanted her, "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

A/N: Well I hope I didn't butcher that last scene. I have no idea how flirtation works, especially not drunken flirting in a bar that ends in a one-night-stand. If you have a better idea for how that dialogue should have gone, feel free to visualize that instead.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. Hundley: I really was worried about that scene so thank you for allaying my fears. Yeah, they didn't really have much in the way of good Christmases/Birthdays/Holidays in general. The second Christmas after Mary's death certainly wasn't going to be fun (Mary died in November. Christmas 1983 was way back in chapter three! So long ago. Thanks, and read on! ncsupnatfan: THAT SCENE HURT SO MUCH! I hated writing John abusing Dean, and the aftermath of that, but we know canonically that it happened so there really wasn't any way around it. I promise, happiness is coming! (Sort of)

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 20

* * *

He came home late the next morning, feeling better than he had in ages. He had it all thought out. He would walk in, grab Dean in a hug and tell him how much he loved him, and how sorry he was, and apologize for being such an idiot. Then he would explain how he had been stressed and worried and hadn't really meant any of those things he had said back at Bobby's. Actually, he would say, he was immensely proud of Dean. The way he had held up under all that had happened, well, he himself hadn't handled it half so well. Yes, he was proud to call Dean his son, he loved him, and he had no idea what he would do without him. Then he would ask for forgiveness, on his knees if necessary.

He continued to practice his speech as he walked up to the motel door. Then he walked in and it all flew out the window.

He stared agape at the sight that greeted him. The place was a wreck. Sam lay on a bed, wailing fit to wake the dead. Bags of trash were piled by the door, and some sort of soupy substance John wasn't sure he really wanted to identify lay in puddles on the floor and bed. A sickly odor hung in the air. He considered sneaking out and pretending he hadn't come.

"Just a minute, Sammy!"

A tired, harried-looking Dean walked in, carrying several wet towels from the bathroom. He dumped them in a heap on the floor, then pulled a washcloth out of the stack and climbed on the bed, gathering the distressed toddler into his arms and putting the cloth to his forehead, "Shhh, shhh, it's okay. I'm here now. There, that feels good, doesn't it?" Sam quieted slightly. "See, Sammy? We're gonna make it through this. You're gonna be okay." Dean stroked a hand through Sam's hair, and Sam snuggled into him, smiling weakly, "Dank-uu, Dee." Dean smiled, "That's what I'm here for. Hey, you want something to eat? I can't make Mommy's soup, but I have chicken & rice. I know it's not your favorite but..." Sam looked green, before throwing up all over his brother's pants and shirt. He started to cry, "Dee, my tummy hurts." Dean stared down at his clothes, "No kidding." He sighed, slowly untangling himself to climb off the bed, "It's okay, Sammy. I'll be right back. I'll make it okay, you'll see."

"Don't go, Dee."

"I'll be right back, I promise." Dean moved off into another room.

John forced himself out of his observant reverie, walking to the bed to pick up Sam. The feverish toddler looked confused to be in his arms and struggled to get down. John settled him better against his shoulder and tried softly singing a lullaby to sooth him. Sam's wails intensified.

Dean rushed back in, dressed in a fresh pair of pajama pants and no shirt, all items of that type having been rendered unwearable. "Hold your horses. See? I'm-" He froze, staring at John, then at the mess, straightening unconsciously. "Daddy. I didn't think- Sammy's sick! I didn't mean-" The poor kid looked ready to burst into tears. He looked down and whispered, "Please don't be mad at me." John put down Sam and moved to pick up Dean, hugging him tightly as the boy stiffened, "I'm not mad." He wasn't sure where to go from there, "How could I be mad? Dean, I… I…" he trailed off, just standing there holding his son. How did he explain how he felt? He wanted to say how sorry he was, how proud, how he felt incredibly guilty and wanted to fix things and take back every single awful thing he had ever said. But he couldn't think how. So he stood.

"Um… Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"Sammy needs a bath."

"Right," he put the boy down. "Why don't, uh, you do that and I'll, uh, get started on the room, okay?"

Dean smiled, "Okay."

And just like that, the moment was gone. John turned to his assigned task, sighing as he took in the war zone of a room, and the towels he had to clean with. "Well, might as well get started."

* * *

Dean, meanwhile, lifted Sam onto his hip, grabbing a fresh diaper as he walked to the bathroom. Since Sam had started walking, he had found showers were a much easier way to bathe his brother than the kitchenette sinks he had used to begin with. He sighed as he stripped off his remaining clothing, then went to deal with Sam, first moving him to the shower in case of accidents. He turned on the water and got down the soap, then turned to find Sam standing against the wall, crying as he desperately tried to avoid the water. Dean sighed, "Really? You're scared of water now?"

Sam stared at his brother pleadingly. The dream he'd had… that poor girl had drowned, pulled under the lake by that awful boy. The nightmares were more infrequent now, but when he did have them, they were more vivid than they had ever been, and he remembered them longer. He didn't want to get pulled under, he didn't want to get hurt like that girl. He wailed in fear, pushing at the stall door in desperation. If Dean wasn't going to help him, he'd just have to help himself. He'd get the door open, then he'd pull Dean to safety.

He felt himself grabbed from behind and screamed. The boy from his dream! He had him! "NO!" he screamed, then started fighting for his life, kicking, punching and biting. That boy wasn't going to get him, not without a fight.

"Sam! Sammy stop! Ow! What's wrong with you? Stop it!"

Sam looked, to see that it had been Dean who had grabbed him. He stared in relief, "Dee?"

"Yeah. It's me, you dummy." Sam hugged him, "Sorry." He touched a red mark left on Dean's arm by his attack, "Booboo." Dean chuckled, "Yeah. It's okay though, I've had worse. Come on, let's get this done. You can beat me up some more later, if you want." He moved over to stand in the water, arms akimbo, "See? It won't hurt you." Dean lathered them both up, glad to get the grime off of himself as well. He rinsed them off, then dried himself and Sam, dressed them both and returned to the (considerably cleaner) room.

He paused as he entered the room. Everything was (more or less) clean and neat. Daddy stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot. He looked up as Dean entered, "Hey." He started ladling the something into two bowls and brought it over to the table, "Went out to the store. Figured two hungry warriors deserved some homemade lunch after our battle. Put down Mount Vesuvius and come eat."

John stared in shock as Dean suddenly walked over and hugged him. The boy looked up, "I love you, Daddy." John wanted to run and hide. He didn't deserve this. Dean should have punched him in the gut, not this. "I- I, uh, thanks, buddy. Um, how about we eat. Uh, I don't guarantee the edibility."

Dean sat down, eyeing the suspicious liquidy mixture in the bowl in front of him, "What is this?"

John shrugged. "Don't ask me. I can't cook. I just hope it's good." He put a spoonful in his mouth, choked, and ran to get some water from the sink while Dean laughed. He put the glass down, breathing heavily, "Wow, that's spicy! Guess we need some water." He filled a couple of cups and brought them to the table. Dean cautiously ate a bit and grabbed his glass. When he had his voice back, he spoke. "I dunno, I think it's good." John chuckled, "Well, the critic has spoken. Okay."

Dean yawned.

John looked concerned, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"No."

"I can hold down the fort while you get some sleep."

The boy's head nodded, "I'm okay."

"No. You need to sleep. You want to grow or not? Go to bed, Dean, that's an order."

He got up wearily, "Yes sir." He staggered across the room, then collapsed on the bed, out like the proverbial light.

John eyed Sam warily. The toddler was glaring daggers at him and generally looked like he wanted to murder John in his sleep, "Now, we're going to be friends. Right, Sammy?"

* * *

Dean woke up the next day to find John in an exhausted stupor in a chair. Sam sat on the floor, grinning diabolically. Dean groaned, "Oh come on. You couldn't be nice for a few hours?" Sam stood up, walking over to throw his arms around his favorite person, "Dee."

"Look I gotta sleep sometime. Daddy was really nice, taking care of you for a while."

Sam shook his head stubbornly, "Dee."

Dean sighed, "Fine."

* * *

The phone rang. Bobby glared at it, then set down his tumbler of cheap whiskey and answered, "Leave me alone or I'll shoot you."

The voice on the other end sounded confused, "Who is this?"

Bobby was annoyed, "This is Bobby Singer. Who the hell is this?"

There was a pause, "I was told this was the number for Jim Sutton."

"Jim's been dead going on two years. Who. Is. This?"

"My name's Henry Walsh. I've been out for a while and I'm trying to get back in. Jim was a friend. Sorry, uh, what happened?"

Bobby sighed, "Werewolf. Son of a bitch got slow."

"Right. Happens to the best of us. So, uh, if he's dead, who are you? Why'd they give me your number?"

"I'm the new Jim. I'm crappy at it."

There was a pause, "Okay. Well, you got a spare case you could throw my way? Nothing to tough, I'm looking to ease back in, not drown."

Bobby walked to get his clipboard off the wall, stretching the phone cord as far as it would go, "Sure thing. Um, how 'bout a ghost? Got one in Dallas needs taking out pretty bad."

"Sounds all right. What you got so far?"

Bobby gave him the details. After he hung up he sat in the dark, thinking. How had his life turned into this? Six years ago he'd been happy, married to a wonderful woman, with a life, a job, and a future. And now… He was thirty-two, living alone in the house he and Karen had chosen together, drinking and fielding calls from possible psychopaths. What the hell had happened to him?

His gaze fixed on a toy truck, abandoned on the study floor. Speaking of which, what was he thinking getting attached to those kids? John was right, they weren't his, he had no claim to them. They were probably better off without him anyway. What was it his father used to say? He broke everything he touched? Sure seemed that way now. After the way things had gone with Karen, and the mess he'd made with Rufus… what was he thinking, cursing those boys with his screwed-up presence? He'd probably ruin them for life, that's if they made it out alive. They were probably better off with John then him, which was saying something after last time. He cursed and poured himself some more whiskey. Damn holidays. Look at him, getting all sad and nostalgic. He had work to do.

* * *

"All right. Let's get started. Whiskey? It's the good stuff." Crowley stood in his new penthouse, a bottle poised over a crystal tumbler.

"Go to hell." He watched the individual who had spoken, tied to a chair in the middle of a heavy-duty devil's trap. Crowley shrugged, then began to speak, pouring some into the other glass and sitting down as he talked.

"Under current leadership?" He chuckled, "Please."

The demon glared at him, "Why did you drag me here? I don't have anything you want."

"I believe you do. You see, you used to work for Abaddon. I happen to be hunting her."

It laughed, "Abaddon? You're joking right? She's dead."

"I have reason to believe otherwise. She didn't die, she vanished overnight, literally, and I want proof of her demise. Now you were her main recruiter, weren't you? So, give me the names of her followers, and whatever else I want, and I'll let you go."

"Or what? You let me rot here?" It laughed, "You talk tough, but you're just a salesman, some piss-ant crossroads demon trying to play with the big boys." The demon paused, "How did you know I worked for Abaddon, anyway?"

"A little birdy told me. Hello, King of the Crossroads."

"So you talked to some other idiot of Abaddon's. Cute. Still not hearing a reason to help you."

"I can give you anything you want-"

"No you can't. You don't have anything, so don't snake-oil me."

"All right, here's my next offer. You cooperate, I don't tell the big bosses about your Abaddon connection."

It looked frightened, "You're insane."

"That's rather beside the point. You know how Alastair and Azazal feel about the Knights. Think how they would feel to suddenly learn that one of Abaddon's followers is still around. You're a threat, and you know it. Listen mate, you might as well take the bloody deal, you don't really have a choice here."

The creature was silent. Finally it sighed, "What do you want me to do?"

Crowley smiled, "That's my boy. A way to kill her, a weapon that could work on a Knight. Find out what is needed, and report back to me. I'll give you your next assignment. In return, I do everything in my power to keep you off Alastair's rack. He really is quite the artist. Do we have a deal?"

The demon glared at him.

Crowley smiled, "Good."


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the break. Over THIRTY reviews on this fic now! Yay! *Throws confetti* MaraDixon413: Yeah. Crowley. :D He was introduced back in chapter nineteen! (And yes, I do have Mark Sheppard playing him. I gave origion story on the vessel.) CarverEdlundtheLast: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. At this point, I think most of the conflict between John and Sam arises not so much from difference of opinion and Sam not liking John (As it is later), as it does from the fact that John isn't really around much, and Sammy isn't exactly a well-socialized baby. He has his person that he likes, and he really isn't sure how he feels about some stranger coming and messing with him. Yes! Thank you so much for the flashback. It has been placed in the timeline, and I promise I will include it.

I do not own Supernatural or it's characters.

* * *

Chapter 21

* * *

John sighed as he entered the Roadhouse. It was strange, seeing it almost empty. The last time he had been here had been for the vamp hunt, when it had been filled with hunters. Now the only party was perhaps three or four, sitting at a table in the corner, cleaning guns, drinking, and obviously discussing some upcoming hunt. He walked up to sit at the bar. "Hey, Ellen."

She looked up from where she had been polishing the counter. He spoke again, "I'm John. I don't know if you remember me. We, uh, we met on that vamp hunt. You know that thing of Daniel Elkins', 'bout four months ago." Recognition dawned on her face, "Oh yeah, John. Sorry. You know, I see a lot of faces. What you doing here? Want a beer?"

"Uh yeah, that would be great. Anyway, I was in the area, and I, uh, I figured I'd drop in, see how you guys are doing."

She gave him a look, "Huh. The idiots that hang around here selling weapons don't generally show up until later." She slid a beer down the bar. John caught it, opening it on the bar and taking a swig, "Not here for that. So, uh, where's Bill?"

"Out on a hunt." She returned to furiously wiping the bar. Her tense movements made him think she possibly wasn't too happy about her husband's activities.

"What's he hunting?"

"He's helping someone out. I didn't ask. Idiot wants to get himself killed, I'm sure as hell not gonna stop him." Then she muttered, "Could've picked a better time for it." She turned around and he suddenly noticed her swollen belly hidden under her blousy shirt, "Congratulations." She smiled slightly, putting a hand to her belly, "Thanks. Only about three months left."

He nodded, "I remember when my wife was pregnant." He laughed slightly, "I think I was more scared then she was."

She leaned on the bar, "Where's she?"

He was silent.

"I'm sorry. You got a kid?"

"Two. Boys."

"Bill's certain this one's gonna be a boy."

He chuckled, "Well, they're a handful, I'll tell you that."

"Whatever. Personally, I think he's wrong. Don't tell him I said that though."

"Sure."

The phone rang and Ellen went to answer it, "Hello, The Roadhouse. Ellen speaking." She straightened, "Bill? What's wrong?... Yes... What?... What the hell were you thinking?... Bill… Stay safe out there… Yeah, love you to." She hung up the phone, an almost devastated look on her face.

John spoke, "What's wrong?"

"It was Bill. He and that friend of his… monster has them cornered. He managed to get to a pay phone, that's how he called me. The other hunter… he's gone, John. God, he was just a kid. And if it gets Bill…" A determined expression came over her face and she started toward the back, "I'm going out there. There's nothing else for it."

John turned his stool to continue to face her, "Wait, wait, wait… What?"

"If that idiot thinks he can get out of helping out around here by getting his stupid ass eaten, he's got another thing coming. I gotta get out there and save him."

"You sure you should be doing that? In your condition?"

She was putting on her coat, "Don't got much of a choice, do I?"

John stood, moving toward her as she gathered her things to leave, "I can't let you do this."

"You don't really get a vote."

"Let me go after them. I'll bring your husband back, I promise." She ignored him, "Come on, you can't go on a hunt like this, you're not up to it."

She turned to him, "Why should I trust you?"

"Cause you don't have a lot of other options."

She stared at him for a second, before walking back behind the bar and taking out a folder.

"Okay. Here's the case they're working on." He reached for it and she held it out of reach, "Be careful with this. I don't have another copy. You screw up, I'm going out there."

"I'll be careful." She gave him the folder. He opened it and began to look through the information. It was fairly standard, missing persons reports, maps, profiles on the missing persons. He looked up, impressed, "Who put this together?"

"Kid. He brought it with him." John nodded. Looking through it, it was obvious the people had all disappeared in the same area, a small forest outside of the town. There was an account by a local boy who went on a camping trip with friends, only to find them gone the next day. All in all, it didn't look good.

"This is a lot. What exactly were they researching? It all seems to be here."

"Well, uh, they weren't. Straight clean-up. Kid's inexperienced and wanted some back-up."

He looked at another few papers, "Looks like they thought it was a Windigo." It made sense. There was something off though, something he couldn't quite put his finger on…

* * *

Dean sat at the table, staring at the door. A book sat on the table in front of him, forgotten. Daddy should have been back by now. He had said that morning he would only be gone a few hours, and now it was dark. Not that it would be the first time the man had disappeared without warning, he was just worried. He was always worried when Daddy left. Daddy hunted monsters, and sometimes he came back really hurt. What if one day he got… too badly hurt… and didn't come back? Dean hated the thought, but it kept creeping to the front of his mind. Forcing his thoughts away from such morbid topics, he considered their supplies. They were pretty much alright on groceries, but if Daddy didn't come back within a few days the diaper supply would start to get dangerously low.

He felt a hand tug at his pants, and looked down to see Sam staring at him, eyes wide and pleading.

"What is it, Sam? What do you want?"

Sam pointed at the table, "Book!"

Dean sighed, "You wanna hear a book?" Sam smiled, pointing up at the book on the table. Dean picked him up and settled him in his lap, "Okay." He felt a little guilty about it. Technically it was Uncle Bobby's book from their room there. He shouldn't really have it, but he had wanted something different to do and he already started it when Daddy showed up. Now that he finally had time, he was looking forward to finding out the ending. Also, Sam liked books, and reading was a good way of getting to spend time with him.

Afterwards they curled up on the couch. Dean wanted to watch TV, for lack of anything else to do, and Sam curled up beside him, staring absently at the screen and trying to ignore the way his eyes kept trying to close. He couldn't let them. He couldn't fall asleep. If he did then the dreams would come. Finally his weariness got the better of him and he slowly fell asleep. Dean looked down, and smiled at the sight, pulling the toddler closer and getting better settled on the couch. There was no way he was going to get up and risk waking him. Happy and content, he looked back at the TV.

* * *

 _Sam found himself in a motel room. Dean stood on a chair near the stove, presumably heating something up for dinner. Unlike often was the case in these dreams, they both seemed to be approximately their current ages._

 _Dean climbed off the chair, moving it to get some dishes from elsewhere on the counter. He turned around slightly, "Hey, Sammy. You want some soup? I'm willing to share. Think you could handle not tossing it everywhere? You old enouph for that?" Sam stared at him, "Dean? What's going on?"_

 _His brother grinned, then continued as if Sam hadn't spoken, "Soup it is!" He turned back around, pointing a finger at Sam, "But you make a mess, you clean it up this time." Sam was used to this, scenes in his dreams always continued the same regardless of what he did. Nevertheless, he often tried, begging Dean to tell him what was going on, why this was happening, why so often these dreams ended in death. Sometimes it was even himself or Dean that died. So far nothing he said or did had ever changed anything. Dean never answered, and neither did anyone else in his dreams. Oh well. At least this one was relatively pleasant, so far._

 _A strange fluttering noise attracted his attention. Sam stared in surprise at the boy that had just appeared in the middle of the room. Strange things happened all the time in these dreams, but something like this… the boy was not imposing, not frightening like many of the monsters he saw. He was perhaps eleven or twelve, dressed in a dark jacket over a tee-shirt and jeans with handsome features and messy dark hair. He was looking around the room curiously, like one visiting the zoo. But there was a power rolling off of him… Sam could feel it from across the room. Whatever this boy was, Sam was scared of him._

 _Dean turned around on the chair, "So, Sammy. How about-" He noticed the boy, "Who are you?"_

 _The boy stopped looking about, suddenly gazing at Dean as though noticing him for the first time. Sam could have sworn he looked… guilty._

 _Dean climbed off the chair, walking towards the boy in a confrontational manner Sam was sure was supposed to be imposing, "I said, who are you?"_

 _The boy said nothing, cocking his head and staring at Dean, large blue eyes unblinking._

" _What's wrong with you? Can't you talk? What. Is. Your. Name."_

 _The boy's eyes narrowed slightly, "I fail to understand how my name could have any importance."_

 _Dean glared at him. Sam could tell he was trying to decode what had been said and figure out if it was an insult. Finally he gave up, "Fine, show-off. How did you get in here? The door's locked."_

" _That is also irrelevant. You must come with me at once."_

 _Dean stepped away from him, "What? No, you creep!"_

" _It wasn't a request."_

 _Sam could only watch from his place on the floor as a dangerous gleam came into Dean's eyes, "Oh, you're gonna force me. Well, let me tell you what happened to the last guy that tried to take Sammy and me somewhere. I picked up a gun and I shot him. So, you wanna die today, go ahead. Make my day."_

 _The boy watched Dean for a moment, then simply stepped forward and put two fingers to Dean's forehead. Sam cried out in fear as Dean fell to the ground and the boy moved towards him._

" _No! Don't touch me!"_

" _I'm sorry, Sam."_

" _What?"_

 _The boy spoke, though clearly not in response to him, "I was foolish before, I didn't understand what was needed. But don't worry, you'll be safe. You and your brother. This is for your protection. I'm sorry, but it's necessary."_

 _Sam tried to run as the boy reached for him, lifting him gently into his arms and walking back to Dean. The boy lifted the unconscious child into his other arm, and all three disappeared._

* * *

Sam jerked awake to gunfire. Oh, it was the TV. He was cradled in Dean's middle, one of Dean's arms wrapped around him. Dean was watching an action movie, completely engrossed in the parking garage gunfight currently playing itself out on the screen.

He must have made some sort of noise, because Dean looked down at him and smiled, "Hey, Sammy. Have a good sleep?" Sam reached a hand up to touch his face. After seeing him knocked unconscious by that boy, the tactile reassurance calmed him. Dean was here, they were in a completely different motel room from the dream, and no scary boys were going to kidnap them. Everything was going to be okay, just like Dean always said.


	22. Chapter 22: Mr Harvelle, I presume?

A/N: Hello everyone. Sorry for the wait. ncsupnatfan: Thank you so much for reviewing. Sam is indeed having visions, though at this point in his life they are only dreams. I have a headcanon that that would have started as soon as Azazal infected him, demon blood is a drug after all, and that is why in very early chapters Dean was concerned about that Sam was "crying all the time, especially when he woke up." It wasn't, as Bobby suggested when asked, Sam's age, but the horrible nightmares Sam was experiencing. The first mention of a specific dream was in ch. 5, with Sam having a premonition of himself and Ruby in the alcoholic grief-fueled early days between seasons 3-4. Sam's dream of Swan Song, Cas's interference in which resulted in his banishment to heaven, was also meant to be a premonition. You are correct, however, this is the first non-canon premonition we have had. Thank you for asking, that is something I have wanted an excuse to clarify for a while. John is doing his best, as usual, and as usual his efforts just aren't coming up to scratch, are they? As far as Cas's intentions… he always means well, doesn't he? *Evil Author Laugh* We shall see…

* * *

Chapter 22

* * *

John searched through the mythology section of the library, pulling out every book that looked like it even had a possibility of being relevant to the case. He dumped them in large stacks on a table, before going back to scour the shelves. Finally he sat down, ready to begin the arduous task of cross-referencing every single creature mentioned in the books with the profile drawn by the existing research. Any creature that even remotely fit, he would put on a list of possible culprits. After that would come the hard part: looking at past crime and phenomena patterns and determining whether they were marks of the creature. That research, added to the research done by Bill's partner, he could then use to begin crossing suspects off the list. He sighed as he opened the first book.

Hours later he was starting to get frustrated. This was taking far too long and time was of the essence. Every moment wasted heightened the likelihood of Bill's death. Of course if he went prepared for the wrong thing, the chances were good that they would both end up dead. He closed another finished book and looked at his list. Ten monsters. It was a good start. Maybe he could deal with the one's already on the list, narrow it down, before adding any more names. It was possible the creature might already be on the list, and in that case waiting to add more might just waste time. Also he really didn't want to read any more lore books discussing "mythic" creatures and as a result giving far too little info. If he was honest with himself, that was the main reason, but he didn't give himself time to think about it. Instead he bolted to his feet, in the manner one frequently adopts after finding a sufficiently alluring excuse to escape a necessary but unattractive task.

He moved to the microfiche viewer and periodicals. The hunter's research had been fairly extensive, but he saw nothing wrong with double-checking, especially as the boy was apparently inexperienced. Inexperienced, but smart. John found nothing that hadn't already been mentioned in the research. Eventually, he sat back down at the table, glaring at the pages of the folder, as if commanding them to yield up their secrets.

His gaze narrowed in on a map, detailing the approximate locations of the disappearances. He squinted at it quizzically. They were dotted all over, but mostly heavily concentrated in a certain area. Likely that was the location of the creature's lair. Excited by the discovery, he asked the librarian for a geological map of the forest outside of town. He looked at it and smiled. Right in the center of the disappearances was a cave, small, mostly underground, almost like a rock slab with the ground scooped out from under it. That narrowed the field considerably. Most creatures were very picky about their environment, and the number that preferred that sort of home were quite limited.

He went through the research, pulling out any facts that could give him clues about the species. First: Were victims taken on a schedule, or just randomly? Just randomly, though the farther out along the radius one went from the cave, the fewer the disappearances. Clearly not a cursed forest then. Also probably couldn't teleport, as then it wouldn't care nearly so much about distance. It didn't seem to have a specific territory either. Having driven around the edge of town, the only pay phone Bill could have realistically called from was at a long-abandoned gas station just outside of the forest, well away from any of the other victims. Likely he had angered it, then run when the hunt went south. Having reached the gas station, he realized the creature wasn't going to give up, and he himself had little chance of escape. Forcing his brain back on topic, John considered other factors. There was no particular pattern, the victims were of all races, genders, ethnicities, backgrounds, etc. Probably not a spirit then. Spirits usually had a type. He continued to work, listing every single thing he could pull from the research that might tell him what this thing was. Finally he went through the list of creatures, eliminating them one by one until there was only one left on the list. He sat back and sighed. A troll. It was unusual, certainly, but it wasn't unheard of. It also fit the profile to a tee. And it was similar enouph to a Windigo that an inexperienced or over-eager hunter might easily get them confused. He leaned back over the table with a groan, "Okay, now, how do I kill it."

He talked to the librarian, and with her help found every non-fiction book that mentioned trolls. He flipped through them, stopping whenever he saw kill, killed, dead, destroyed, or any other potentially useful words. He was well aware of the time he was taking, and his rush showed in his research style.

* * *

He hiked in. It wasn't fun, but the car wasn't an option. The sun had long since set and he moved fast, trying to make as little sound as possible. John held his taser (extra-strength) out in front of him as he walked, hoping that if he was attacked, the creature would make enouph noise that he would have time to shoot. The lore had said trolls were afraid of sunlight and lightning. Hopefully a ten-thousand volt taser would be close enouph to simulate the latter.

He leaned against a tree, looking around carefully before taking out his flashlight and map, flicking on the light in an attempt to determine his location. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the map under his arm and took out his compass. As long as he was going the right direction hopefully he wouldn't get lost.

He stumbled on, until eventually his flashlight beam landed on a large rock outcropping. Panning down, he saw a long, low opening near the ground. John looked around once more, then crunched and made his way into the cave.

* * *

John waved his flashlight around. He didn't know how far back the cave extended, but if he could he was hoping to rescue Bill and get him back to the Roadhouse, then come back and finish the job. The last thing he needed was a wounded liability.

He continued to walk towards the back of the cave, cursing under his breath as the light continued to reveal no sign of the missing man. He almost called out to him, but thought better of it as it occurred to him that such a signal would likely be heard by the troll as well.

Finally he heard a moan to his left. Hurrying through the dark, John saw a well-bound man propped up against the wall. His breathing was shallow and open-mouthed, his blond hair was matted and stiff with dirt and sweat, and he had a bad gash on his cheek, but he was alive and seemed to be conscious. This assessment proved correct as Bill raised his head to look at John and spoke, "Oh, thank God." He squinted a bit against the flashlight beam in his face. John lowered it, "You Bill Harvelle?"

He nodded, "Yes I am."

John smiled, "Your wife's getting kinda worried."

Bill barked out a sort of relieved half-laugh, "I'm sure."

John walked over and knelt down, taking out a knife to cut the rope, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Might want to take care of the kid though."

John stared at him, "He's alive?"

Bill swallowed and licked his lips in an attempt to moisten them, "Last I checked. He's unconscious most of the time."

"Where is he?"

Bill nodded his head to his right, "Over there."

John crept over to the other hunter, a boy of about sixteen, sitting unconscious against the wall. Pulling out his knife, John released him from his bonds, then looked back at Bill, "Hey. Think you could carry him?" Bill looked unsure. "It's this or the taser. Which one do you want? Can you shoot right now?"

Bill struggled to his feet, "Okay. Help me lift him." John supported the dead weight to a standing position, then moved to place the boy's arm around Bill's shoulders. Stumbling a bit, the hunter followed John towards the front of the cave.


	23. Chapter 23: Love and Monsters

A/N: Thanks for reading! I can't believe how popular this fic has been! Hundley: Great to hear from you again. I'm glad you like the story, and I promise I will continue to update. I am committed to this story, and I am determined to finish. Thank you for liking my author's notes. Good to know they are appreciated.

On that note, there is a competition going on for novel-length fanfictions, and I'm thinking of entering. Thoughts?

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 23: Love and Monsters

* * *

They had been hiking for perhaps ten minutes when Bill paused, head erect, like some fine pointer on alert. John, suddenly realizing that his already remarkably slow column had come to a complete halt, turned in annoyance, "What's wrong?"

"I think I heard something. That direction," Bill nodded to indicate the direction meant. John was at his side in an instant, "You think it was the troll?"

Bill looked at him, "Troll?"

"What? You still saying it was a Windigo?"

"No, no, just, kinda glad to know what the hell that thing was."

"Yeah. Right. Okay. Um, Bill, how about you go over there," John said, pointing, "and try to keep the kid out of the line of fire."

"His name's Caleb."

"Just get him over there. You stay with him. Do not come out until the thing is dead or gone. Got it?"

Bill rolled his eyes, "I'm not a civilian you know." However he did move off into the hidden spot John had indicated.

John turned away, extending his taser out in front of him as he stared into the blackness. He always hated this part, the waiting, staring into nothing, not knowing where the threat might spring from.

* * *

Sam tugged at Dean's pants, "Dee! Pway!"

Dean stared down at him, "Now? Isn't it time for your nap?" Sam tugged again. That was precisely why he wanted to play, if he was playing then he wasn't asleep. He stared at his brother.

Dean looked back at the papers he had been working on. He had gotten Daddy to show him some basic addition and subtraction, and now he was drawing up an assessment of their supplies, trying to determine exactly how long they could go without a store. He was already coming to the conclusion that they used far too much in a day. Diapers and food were scarce resources, they needed to be conserved.

"Deeeeee…"

Dean sighed, looking down into the pleading puppy dog eyes that were artfully brimming with tears, "Look Sammy, I'm busy. Why don't you go sleep. We can play later." He turned back to his work assuming the conversation to be over.

"No s'eep. No."

Dean sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes to look obnoxiously at the ceiling, "Then play by yourself."

Sam stared at him a moment, sniffing and rubbing at tears now falling freely down his face. He turned slowly away and sadly started out of the room.

Dean watched him start to leave. The sight tugged at his memory. A few weeks after the fire, when he had gone to ask Daddy what was going on, Daddy had told him almost exactly the same thing. Of course, he understood now why Daddy hadn't wanted to talk, but he couldn't do that to Sam.

He hopped off his chair, running toward the toddler and scooping him up, grinning into the confused face, "So, what do you wanna do?" Sam looked astonished, rubbing a hand across his face to wipe away tears, "Dee?"

"Yeah. What, you just gonna sit there?" Sam smiled, struggling to get down and then running across the room, "Catch me!" He shrieked in babyish happiness, "Catch me, Dee!"

"Okay!" Dean chased after him, running and zigzagging around, childish yells and shrieks of glee drifting up toward the ceiling. Work could wait. For now he would be a kid.

* * *

John turned hurriedly as he heard a loud crash in the brush nearby. He cursed. He was really jumpy, and he couldn't afford that right now. There was something about the pitch black, the waving flashlight beam that illuminated everything and nothing, that made the dark even more unnerving. He heard another crash and swung to aim at it, his flashlight beam briefly lighting on the mottled skin of a moving figure. He almost shot at it before remembering the unlikelihood of hitting it, and the taser only had enouph charge for one shot. Hearing a noise directly to his left he dropped to the ground and rolled to the right, feeling the wind of a heavy fist narrowly miss his face. He bolted to his feet, trying desperately to see though the pitch dark. He heard it lumber toward him again, and again he narrowly missed a rather severe concussion.

This went on for a while. He couldn't see a thing, and could never get a clear shot. The troll, fortunately, was large, slow, clumsy, and rather stupid. The only problem was that it had a distinct height advantage, excellent hearing, and remarkable stamina. John could only keep up his dangerous game of ropadope for so long. Already he felt himself beginning to tire.

He continued for a while longer, growing increasingly clumsy and labored in his movements, his rolls and ducks to the side awkward and slow. Finally he tripped over an unseen root and went down, hard. As he tried to recover his breath, he realized that at some point during all this he had dropped his taser. He heard heavy footsteps above him, and rolled over to stare in horror up into the hideous face and horrible dark silhouette of the troll.

This was it. This was how he was going to die, killed by some damn creature from The Lord of the Rings.

The monster reached a hand toward him, then began to spasm, jerking and arching as blue-white bands of electricity flew over it, glowing brightly in the pitch black. This lasted perhaps twenty seconds, then it went dark and John heard it drop to the ground. A figure stepped over it with some difficulty and John saw a hand extended about a foot in front of his face. He took the offered help and carefully got to his feet, feeling himself pulled into a hug.

Bill's voice sounded from the vicinity of his shoulder, "You okay?"

They pulled apart with some awkward backslapping, "Yeah, uh, thanks for that." John's tone turned teasing, "I thought I told you to keep your ass in those bushes."

Bill shrugged, "Yeah, well… Hey uh, I don't think I asked, what's your name?"

"John Winchester."

"Good to meet you, John. Um… What do you say we get out of these woods?"

* * *

The sun was just making its way over the trees as John stopped the Impala outside the Roadhouse. Bill got out the other side and together they lifted Caleb out of the back seat. John supported him, and in this fashion they slowly made their way into the building, Bill opening the front door and John grinning his thanks.

Ellen looked up from where she was wiping down the bar, eyes going wide as she took in Bill standing awkwardly by the door, "Hey, Ellen."

She made her way out from behind the bar, moving one hand across the surface, as though she would collapse if she went unsupported. She stood in front of Bill, tears in her eyes as she looked up at him, a hand on his cheek as she leaned up to kiss him.

They pulled away and Bill smiled, "Hey, baby." Then his face turned to the side as she gave him a resounding slap. Her finger went up and into his face, "William Joseph Harvelle! Don't you ever, EVER do that to me again! I don't care if it's ten years from now. Scare me like that again and I kill you."

"Sorry, Ellen. Guess I'm just stupid." He grinned into her unturned face. She grinned back, "You got that right," and they kissed again, long and deep, maneuvering around her protruding belly as they wrapped their arms around each other.

John stood awkwardly, trying to shift the teenager's weight around to a more comfortable hold. Finally he decided they'd had long enouph. He cleared his throat. No effect. He tried again.

After about another ten seconds they broke apart, grinning like idiots. John spoke, "Where do you want the kid?"

Ellen turned her head to look at him, still resting her head against Bill's chest, Bill's chin resting on her hair. "Um… better put him on the pool table."

"Right." John started across the room, Ellen's voice drifting after him, "And John… Thank you."

Caleb moaned slightly as John laid the boy onto the table. Good to know he hadn't wasted all that effort on a dead kid, "No problem."

Bill was the next to talk as John walked back across the room, "Don't worry about clean-up. I'll burn the thing later." John came to a stop in front of him, "Okay. Well, uh, guess I'd better be going then."

"Wait! Um, couldn't you stay until this evening?"

"Why? What's this evening?"

"I guess it isn't all that important, but uh, you know, the Super Bowl's tonight. Ellen and I always have kind of a party for everyone here, and we'd really like you to come. After all, I haven't thanked you properly for saving my life! What better way than this, huh? Come on, Bears vs. Patriots! Bet we beat their asses this year!"

Ellen laughed, "You say that every year! About a different team!"

"I think I'm entitled to more than one favorite team, don't you?"

"Every year they lose!"

"Well, I'm right this time. What do you say, John? Stick around? Bet Caleb would like to meet you."

John considered. It sounded like a lot of fun, certainly better than sitting doing research in a motel with Bobby like he had last year, or drinking himself into oblivion, like most holidays since. And he really wanted to spend more time with the Harvelles… But. He stood for a minute, thinking, "Yeah, you should probably get that kid to a hospital. And, uh, thanks for asking me, but, uh, there's someone I got to go see." He and Bill shook hands, "Well, see you around, Winchester." Ellen spoke, "You be sure to come see us sometime."

"I'll do that. Bye."

* * *

Dean sat, frustrated, finally managing to get some work done now that there wasn't a screaming toddler running around, begging him to play with him. Sam had been placated with Bobby's picture book, which he held open in front of him, babbling wordlessly as if reading aloud while staring at the pictures. It was starting to get on Dean's nerves. He was attempting to calculate food supplies, carefully counting on his fingers, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. Finishing that, he wrote a number down on his paper, strung near the bottom after a whole line of others. He glared at it. Why did math have to be so hard?

A car pulling up outside drew his attention, and his heart leapt as he heard it park outside their room. Daddy was back!

He started to run to the door, then stopped, thinking better of it. Daddy frequently came home really badly hurt, and then there was that time last month at Uncle Bobby's… He decided to hang back and test the waters.

He relaxed as Daddy walked in, a large smile on his face, and no apparent wounds, "Hey, buddy. Come here." He reached out his arms and Dean ran to meet him, basking in happiness as he felt himself swept up into his father's arms. He leaned his head against the man's shoulder, "I love you, Daddy."

Daddy placed a hand against the back of his head. Dean was glad of the comforting gesture, "I know you do. Hey, Sammy!" He set down the grinning boy, instead grabbing a surprised Sam and tossing him in the air, before holding him close in a hug, ignoring the shrieks of protest and struggles for liberty as the toddler desperately tried to escape, "DEE!" The boy laughed at the sight, and Daddy turned to him, "Here, take your brother. I need to go out for a second." Dean accepted hesitantly, disappointed this lovely day would not continue, and watched the man walk out, ignoring Sammy relaxing in his arms, clutching his shirt and sighing, "Dee."

Daddy, to Dean' delight, returned a very short time later, several brown paper bags perilously held in his arms as he struggled to navigate the door. He caught sight of Dean's downcast face, "What's the matter, Dean? Oh. Um, sorry, I just had to go out to the car. Got us some stuff." He pulled a small toy football out of one of the bags and tossed it at Dean. Surprised, he did not catch it, but he quickly set down Sammy and ran to pick it up, walking to where Daddy was unloading all sorts of good-looking foods. Mainly junk, it was true, but it was delicious.

"Daddy? What's going on?" John handed him the channel guide, "Here, find the sports channel."

Dean flipped through, finally landing on the right one, replay of various football games moving on the screen. He tossed the ball at Daddy, "Daddy, catch!"

John caught it, yelling "Touchdown!" and Dean laughed, jumping up onto the couch to catch it again.

The motel room rang with shouts and laughter, full of joy and love, and for one shining moment, they were a family again.

* * *

The angel in the corner felt glad. Castiel had been checking in with them on occasion, telling himself it wasn't a problem so long as no one knew. He just wanted to be sure the family was all right. After all, The Vessels and The Righteous Man in the same family? They should be a magnet for demons. So he came. Not very often, and he didn't stay long, but enouph to satisfy himself that they were still alive. He stayed for a few minutes, watching them, and then, seeing that they appeared safe and happy, to his limited understanding of human emotion anyway, he departed.


	24. Chapter 24: A Plus Parenting

A/N: Hello dear readers! So I've been thinking of giving this fic a theme song, like how Supernatural has Carry on my Wayward Son. It is kind of a spinoff, after all, and I heard Cat's in the Cradle by Cat Stevens and I was thinking of using it (Seriously, listen to it, it's perfect. I cried). It would serve the same purpose as in the show, use it to herald in a "finale" group of chapters. What do you guys think? Hundley: Yes, Cas is still there, sometimes. He just can't stay away, can he? We'll see what happens in the happiness department, but unfortunately, it is rarely up for very long. Many more chapters to come. CarverEdlundtheLast: Thank you for your comments. I'm glad you enjoyed it. They really don't get to be truly happy very often, and so I love writing it when I get the chance. Here you go, I updated it! ncsupnatfan: Always lovely to hear from you. By the way, I would just like to take this opportunity to say: To all of my faithful reviewers, THANK YOU! YOU ARE AWESOME! Anyway, getting back to your specific review, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I adore the Harvelles and I have a great time writing them. And familial fluff is always fun. CatstielWinchespurr: Oh, you promise not to be a ghost? Okay. I'll put away the salt and iron then. No, but in all seriousness, Yay! You're back! I've missed you, if it's all right to say. Awww, you're all so sweet about my plot… thank you. It really helps me when you guys review because I always write something and then instantly start thinking about how stupid and amateurish it sounds. I love you guys!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 24: A+ Parenting

* * *

Four days later, Dean woke up in a motel room. He had a distinct feeling that he was forgetting something, something important, but as he could not think what it could possibly be, he decided to let it go.

Leaving Sam sleeping on the bed, he walked into the kitchenette, moving a chair over to the counter to pour some spagettios into a pot and turn on the stove. Daddy was out, as usual, doing some research for a salt and burn. As he reached in a spoon to stir the unappetizing mixture, he accidentally burned his arm, yelling in pain and falling off the chair as he jerked away. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

Dean stayed where he was a moment, trying to get his breath back, nursing his throbbing arm as pained tears leaked from his eyes. He wasn't crying, exactly, he thought, his eyes were putting out water of their own free will, independent to all orders from their superior.

He moaned as he got to his feet, moving the chair across the room to run some cold water over the burn. It didn't look too bad, certainly not anything he couldn't handle. He hoped the day got better. This was not fun. Finally he moved back to the stove, stirring the stuff until it was ready, then poured it into two bowls on the table and moved off into the bedroom.

Dean climbed on the bed and shook Sam awake. "Hey. Hey, you wanna get up? I made breakfast."

Sam groaned a little, eyes flicking open. He smiled, "Goo…"

Dean felt confused, "Good? What's good?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't expect his brother to understand. Dean didn't know about the dreams, so he didn't know how happy Sam was when he had a nice one. He and Dean had been knights, like in Dean's book, riding around on horses, fighting brigands, and climbing castle walls, which should have been difficult at their size, but wasn't. They had even met a dragon! It talked. It was really nice and helped them find a treasure trove, which looked suspiciously like Uncle Bobby's house. It was so rare for him to have normal, nice dreams that made no sense, and he was in an especially good mood today.

He grinned at his brother and climbed off the bed, running out of the room to leave a rather confused Dean to try to figure out what was going on.

Dean walked into the kitchen to see Sam standing beside a chair staring forlornly up at the table. Turning around to look at him, Sam pointed at the tabletop, "Up!"

Dean chuckled, walking across the room toward his brother, "Okay, Sammy." He piled some books and cushions onto the seat, then lifted Sam onto the chair, "Heeere you go." Sam smiled at him.

* * *

Daddy came home a couple of days later, stopping by the kitchen table where Dean was practicing his math skills. He kissed the top of the boy's head, "Hey, buddy. Whatcha doing?"

"Practice. It's important."

John chuckled, "Yeah, well, let's take a break from that." He set a newspaper-wrapped package on the table, pulled out a chair, and, sighing, sat down beside him. "Dean I'm sorry. A couple of days ago… I should've been here." Dean stared at him, confused. Why was he apologizing?

"It's okay, Daddy. You had work."

"No, it's not. It was your birthday and you were alone. I-I'm sorry."

Oh. So that's what he had been forgetting. It didn't matter, not really. Daddy was busy. "I wasn't alone. I had Sammy."

"Will you just let me apologize?! Damn." Daddy suddenly sounded very annoyed. Dean's smile vanished.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

John sighed, "Just open your present." Still the same annoyance. Dean eyed him nervously as he unwrapped it, revealing a set of Legos. He smiled at Daddy, "Thank you. Sammy should love these."

John smiled back. It was so sweet how kind Dean was to his brother. John had seen so many siblings who seemed to hate each other, he was glad that his children seemed to be the exception. He stood up, hugging his son, "Good. Listen, I'm gonna go take a shower. I wanna see this room all packed up when I get back."

Dean straightened in his seat, smiling as he barked out a "Yes sir!"

John grinned, ruffling the boy's hair, "Good boy. See you in ten."

* * *

Dean stared out the window, watching the countryside roll by. There was nothing visible for miles, just pasture and cropland, currently covered in snow, the sky a cloudless, cold, winter blue. _Born in the USA_ by Bruce Springsteen played on the radio. Dean couldn't help but think how wonderful things had been lately, he hoped it lasted. Happiness was all too rare for their family.

Suddenly John pulled off the road, parking in a wide grassy area beside the asphalt. "Come on, Dean," he said, unbuckling himself and getting out of the car. Dean watched that side of the car quizzically, wondering what was going on. He jumped as someone knocked on his window. Daddy spoke through it, "You getting out or not?" Dean exited the car and followed his father toward a nearby fence, shielded from view of the road by a stand of trees. He glanced at the duffle John carried. "What's in there, Daddy?" John unzipped it, setting empty beer bottles and cans on the fence as he spoke, "Well, Dean, I've been thinking: You're gonna have to learn how to do this eventually anyway. I'd been hoping to put it off a little more, but… If you're gonna go around shooting people, you'd better know how to aim." He sighed a little as he turned away from the fence. He hated this. Dean was six, he shouldn't have to know these things. Still, he'd thought it over long and hard, and this was the only way. Dean's innocence wasn't worth his life. _Oh, quit it John. It isn't like you taking him on a hunt._ After a moment he added, _It isn't like he hasn't already shot a man_. The thought didn't stop him from thinking himself a lousy father as he walked a few yards away and beckoned Dean, pulling out a pistol as he got close. He knelt down in front of the boy, holding the weapon out to him, "Okay Dean, let's see you hold it."

Dean stared at it, memories of his previous contact with the item flooding his brain. He didn't want to relive that, ever. The experience had been horrible, but Daddy was holding the thing out to him now, asking him to take it. Dean trusted Daddy, the man would never hurt him, but he would be disappointed if Dean was scared. He would never disappoint Daddy. He couldn't. He took the gun.

"Okay, now let's see how much you know from cleaning these things. Take off the safety." Dean followed directions, moving to face the fence as Daddy moved to stand by his side.

"Shoot that first bottle. Take your time, aim carefully. Remember, in the field a fraction of an inch can mean the difference between getting the thing, and it getting you." Dean tilted his head, squeezing one eye shut as he sighted the first target, pistol held in both hands. John continued to talk, "Watch out for the kickback. You're still kind of little for regular guns. You can't let it throw you."

They stood for perhaps another half a minute. Finally Dean pressed the trigger, allowing the kickback to throw his arms back beside his head, the gun aimed at the sky. He would have fallen over completely if John hadn't held a hand to his back to keep him up.

"Look, Dean." There was a pride and genuine warmth to his voice that Dean was thrilled to hear. He would have walked over hot coals barefoot to hear it again, and he looked where Daddy was pointing. The bottle was smashed, only broken glass remained where it had sat.

"Okay. Let's try the next one!" Daddy sounded so excited, Dean couldn't help but grin as he moved to aim at the next target. He caught sight of a proud smile on his father's face, and he focused even harder on the next bottle, determined to do even better and earn another smile.

* * *

"Slow down, John. What happened?"

"He hit all of them! Every single one! First time ever, and he shoots a perfect game!" John half-yelled into the phone in his excitement. He generally tried to avoid talking to Bobby, the man was far too judgmental and John didn't like listening to parenting lectures, but he had had to tell someone, otherwise he had felt he would burst from pride and excitement. So here he stood, cramped into a small glass booth at a gas station, yelling at Bobby through the phone.

"He what?" John failed to notice the tone of the words.

"Exactly, Bobby! I couldn't believe it either! Kid's a natural!"

"You took Dean shooting?" John sighed. Bobby seemed to be rather missing the point. He leaned an arm on the side of the booth as Bobby continued, "He's barely six, John! What the hell are you doing?"  
"I'm protecting him," John said, his tone turning serious.

"How is that pr-"

He straightened, "Look, I don't like it any better than you do. But look at the facts, he's already shot a guy, and there are lots of monsters that are only too glad too chow down on kids. I hate it but… I don't see another option. A little bit of training could be the difference between life and death for both of them."

Bobby sighed, "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just… I wish it didn't have to be like this."

John took a long look at the car, where Dean was messing around on the dash, "Me too." He turned away, "You know, sometimes I wonder what Mary would say, you know, if she'd hate me. It's just… there are days where I feel like I'd die, like revenge is the only thing keeping me sane. You understand, don't you?" He didn't know why he was telling Bobby all this, he supposed right now he really needed Mary's forgiveness, but that wasn't going to happen and Bobby was on hand. He had to talk to someone. He was desperate.

"Oh yeah, you bet I understand. Just… be careful it don't take over your life. You know you gotta live 'til you catch this thing."

"Where'd you come up with that one?" He joked.

Bobby's tone did not change, "Same place as most people: I had a really crappy day. I'm serious, John. Obsession ruins relationships." Bobby recalled Rufus, and how he himself had ruined the best friendship he had ever had.

"Yeah, well, don't worry. I'll be careful. Talk to you later, Bobby."

"You too."

John hung up and walked back to the car, starting it up and turning on the heat. Dean eyed him guiltily, hoping he wouldn't notice the way the vents were rattling. He had been stultifying bored, but now that he had time to think about it, maybe sticking some of his new Legos down the vents wasn't such a good idea.

* * *

A/N: Aaand we have our first canon flashback! Sort of. :) Bonus points to anyone who can name the two episodes scenes in this chapter were pulled out of, and which scenes.


	25. Chapter 25: Exercises in Trust

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to chapter TWENTY-FIVE! *Throws confetti* I can't believe it! Thank you all so much for your continued support and love. This fic never would have gotten here without you. Okay, celebration over, time to get to the real Author's Note.

First, I was surprised, I expected more of you to know the answer. Of course, one is not a 'flashback' per se. If any of you remember No Exit, when Dean and Jo are telling each other their best childhood memories, Dean tells the story of how when he was six, his Dad took him shooting for the first time. Bottles on a fence etc. etc. Watch the episode for the rest of the story, but, anyway, that proud smile was something he tucked away and cherished as one of his favorite memories. Incidentally, Jo's story in that ep is the basis for much of the Harvelle interaction a couple of chapters ago. Anyway, the other flashback, and this one is almost a proper flashback and some of you actually guessed it, was the scene from Swan Song, Chuck's history of the Impala, when Dean shoved the Legos in the air vents. I hope you all enjoyed this little exercise, and maybe I will try running this pop quiz again next time we have a flashback scene. ncsupnatfan: You got one right! Yay! I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter. I know I say that on every review response I do, but I promise I really mean it, and I wish I could think of some other ways to put that. The rest of your response is sort of dependent on chapter spoilers. It is posted at the bottom of the chapter. CarverEdlundtheLast: Another 'Legos in the vents' person. Congratulations! I'm glad you liked Sam's dream, it was fun to write. I promise, I am writing more every day. I have a fair number of chapters in the can, and lots of ideas for the future. I actually have a timeline on my computer where I can put all the events I haven't written yet. Hope you enjoy! CatstielWinchespurr: Fluff is my favorite to write. Extreme torturous angst is fun to, because of the emotional depth and intensity, but then I feel guilty about hurting my characters. It's like: "What am I doing?! My babies don't deserve this! I am a horrible person… Ohhh wow, look at that line!" Sorry. I try to make them happy as often as possible. After all, all three (four if you include Bobby) of the poor dears later go to Hell, they need fluff. But, as you said, it cannot last forever. *Sigh* Welcome back to plot!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 25: Exercises in Trust

* * *

Time passed. Sam's birthday came and went. They crisscrossed the country, John taking jobs where he saw them.

Meanwhile, in Heaven, tensions were rising. Raphael, tired of Michael's stalling and refusal to act, decided to take matters into his own hands. So it was that Castiel found himself summoned to the presence of a fairly important angel, one he had heard about on occasion but rarely met.

He waited awkwardly, waiting for the angel to take notice of him and too nervous to speak. He wondered if his disobedience had been discovered. Privately, as the time stretched on, he became increasingly certain that it had, as one's mind often jumps to the worst possible conclusion in the face of inaction and an uncertain future. He had gotten to the point of wondering how he would be killed and whether it would hurt when she looked at him, finally acknowledging his presence, "Hello, Castiel."

He eyed her worriedly, "Hello, Naomi."

"We have an assignment for you. Very important, passed down to us personally by Raphael." He calmed. An assignment. They didn't know. He was safe. "Thank you."

She ignored him, continuing as though he had not spoken, "I am sure that you can appreciate how vital it is that this be completed promptly and well."

"Of course."

She paused, studying him. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she went back to her briefing, "There are some children, vessels, that we need protected. The Vessels. I believe you know them." His mind raced. Was he, perhaps being reassigned to the case? Surely Anna would never have allowed it. But, maybe…

"It has been determined too dangerous to allow them to wander around loose. They are to be seized. We have a warehouse in Detroit. I'm sure you can locate it. Bring them there."

He understood, and he was glad they would be protected, but there was something about this that made no since to him, "Why me?"

Naomi seemed surprised that he had spoken, "What?"

"Surely there are others better qualified." Ezekiel for example. Now there was a warrior. A loyal one. "Why was I assigned?"

She paused, "Well, you are familiar with the children, with their signals. You can locate them with maximum efficiency. It is important that this task be completed as quickly as possible." She continued to speak, "Now, we have located a vessel. It is the correct one so you do not need to worry about it burning out. However it is a little… underdeveloped… for peak performance as yet, so I wouldn't recommend fighting unless forced. We have already completed the majority of the outreach. All that is needed is the final step, for which you must, of course, be present. And be discrete. We are still not authorized to make ourselves known. Wipe its memory. I trust that this will prove an easy assignment for you."

"Yes, I'm sure." He remained awkwardly for a moment, then prepared to leave. As with all bureaucrats, she clearly had no interest in talking with him, and he did not wish to stay.

* * *

A dark-haired preteen lay in bed, sighing as he shifted in an attempt to find a position in which he could sleep. It wasn't working. He had a science test tomorrow, and he was worried about the outcome. He had studied, but none of it seemed to be sticking and he doubted he would do very well. He wished there was some way he could escape it. Closing his eyes, he prayed, "Dear Lord, please let something happen. I can't take this test, I'm not ready. I'm not asking for much, just let the teacher move it up a day or something. I'll take something else too if that's all you can swing. Thanks God. Amen." He wondered if it would really work. His mom said God answered prayer, but he wasn't so sure. After all, he had asked for a bike last Christmas, promised to get good grades for it and everything, and he had opened his gifts to find clothes. Yeah. Some way to answer a prayer.

"Hello, Jimmy."

A voice startled him from his self-pitying thoughts. Whirling to look, he saw his best friend sitting at the foot of his bed. "Sean? What're you doing in my room?"

"I am not Sean. Your mind has constructed a form for me that you can comprehend."

What? He didn't understand a word of that. "O…kay. So, uh, if you're not Sean, who are you? If you don't mind me asking."

'Not Sean' finally turned to look at him. "My name is Castiel. I'm an angel."

Jimmy stared, eyes wide, something about him made Jimmy believe him, "You came in answer to my prayer! Yeah, uh, thank God for me and all, but, uh," He laughed nervously, "I only wanted him to move the day of the test. Sending an angel seems a little overkill."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, as though questioning Jimmy's sanity, "I did not come for you."

"Oh, okay. Well, bye then."

"I came to ask your assistance."

"What? No way man!" Anything that an angel would have trouble dealing with, he didn't want to go near.

"This is very important. There are lives on the line. The entire course of history could be affected."

Jimmy stood up, pacing back and forth as he rubbed a hand through his messy hair. Finally he turned back to Castiel, "What do you want me to do?"

The angel appeared apologetic, "I need to temporarily take your form."

"You mean shape-shift into me? Is that how you look like Sean?"

The done expression was back, "No, that is not the reason I resemble your friend. I need you to let me use your body."

Jimmy stared at him, "You mean…"

"Possession. You are my vessel. It won't work otherwise."

 _Okay,_ he thought _, this has gone far enouph. I'm out. No nutcase is getting anywhere near me._

"Mom!" He yelled, walking out of his bedroom, "Mom! I need some help in-" He stopped, confused. He was in his bedroom. He had walked through his bedroom door, into his bedroom. Castiel still sat on the bed. "Your mother cannot assist you, I'm afraid. This is a dream."

He was starting to get irritated, "Fine! Well, how do I get out of here?"

"Say yes."

"Say yes?"

"Yes, Jimmy. You need to give me permission to use your body. The arrangement is temporary, I assure you."

The boy sat down beside the angel, head down, thinking. By now he was thoroughly freaked out and confused. He only saw one way out of this. First, however, he had a question. He continued to stare at the floor as he spoke. "Will it hurt?" he asked, voice small, as though he didn't really want to know the answer.

"No. And I promise I will be careful. No harm will come to your form while I am inhabiting it, I promise."

Jimmy looked up into the angel's eyes, his decision made, "Then do it."

Castiel grabbed his arm, light streaming out of the room, grace pouring into the sleeping boy until he was filled up, Jimmy pushed down and out of the way. The 'boy' sat up awkwardly, studying his limbs with fascination, lifting his hand up in front of his face to observe and test the movement of the wiggling fingers. It suddenly occurred to Castiel that he would need clothes, the twelve-year-old's too-small pajamas were inadequate.

He accordingly made his way to the chest of drawers in the corner, pulling on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt before donning a light black jacket and sliding his blade up the sleeve, ready to drop into his hand at the first sign of trouble. He tested the motion a few times. It had been many centuries since he had had a vessel, and he wanted to be certain he remembered how to operate it. Satisfied, he opened the window, then disappeared into thin air.

* * *

A/N: ncsupnatfan: By the way, I know in your review of Sam's premonition you asked if Cas was there to help. Well, now you know. To be fair, I did say that he 'always means well, doesn't he?' and I very purposely based his little apologetic speech in the premonition on speeches he has made in the show right before he does something unbelievably stupid and breaks the world trying to be a hero. Sorry. You can come bomb my house now.


	26. Chapter 26: Out of the Frying Pan

A/N: Hello everyone! Greetings from the ark! Just kidding. However it does feel like I _should_ be in an ark. I'm here in sunny, dry, warm SC, where there has not been any rain _whatsoever_. That was sarcasm, by the way. On the bright side, my college classes are cancelled this week! Hurray!

CarverEdlundtheLast: Yes, I love Jimmy. Poor guy really can't catch a break. I promise there is more canon in your future. Glad you enjoyed! CatstielWinchespurr: Thank you! It's for finished stories so I'm trying to write as fast as possible. And yes, the plot has thickened. Warning you now, it will get thicker. Of course, Cat's in the Cradle showing up on this chapter should warn you. Tune in for heartbreak! (Really though, it gets kind of dark. I recommend shock blankets. Yes, I'm a horrible person. It won't come for a few chapters though.)

* * *

Chapter 26: Out of the Frying Pan

* * *

*Previously on* with Cat's in the Cradle by Cat Stevens.

"Bye, Daddy," Dean clung to John, uncertain when he would see him again, if ever. John rubbed a hand through his hair, then pulled away to look the child in the eye, "Okay, now, remember the rules. Do not let anyone in. That means anyone, you understand?" Dean nodded. "Good. Don't answer the phone. If I call, I'll let it ring twice, then call back. Repeat it back to me."

"Ring twice, call back."

"Good. And if anyone tries to force their way in, what?"

"Shoot first, ask questions later."

John nodded, "Yeah. There's a reason I gave you that gun. If you have to run, call Pastor Jim and he'll come get you. If you are gone when I get back, I'll assume that's where you are."

"Yes, sir."

"And watch out for Sammy. Remember, he's not so big as you, he needs help."

"Okay, Daddy."

"All right." He smiled, "See you later." And with that he walked out the door.

Dean locked and bolted it, then grabbed a bag of salt from beside the door, shaking out a thick line in front of it. He walked around and checked the other lines, then plopped himself on the couch, getting up a second later to turn on the TV. He flipped the channel to cartoons and mindlessly zoned out, glad to ignore the world and take a break.

* * *

He had been watching for perhaps an hour when the TV suddenly turned to static. Dean got up, grumbling about the crummy appliances in motel rooms, and began to play with the old-fashioned dials, turning them this way and that in an attempt to get a picture.

Sam glanced around worriedly. The room felt odd, like it was being filled with energy somehow. He watched as a couple of lightbulbs broke in quick succession. Sam glanced desperately at his brother. Dean would have a plan. Dean would know what to do.

Dean hadn't noticed, his attention fixated on the television. Sam's eyes widened as he properly studied the room for the first time. It was the room from his dream. The room where that boy had taken them.

Certain now that the events were related, he ran towards Dean, determined to rescue him before he got knocked out. However he stopped, stomach dropping as he heard a fluttering noise behind him. He was too late.

Sam turned around, expecting to see a dark-haired boy examining the room. He was greatly surprised to see a man, with platinum blond hair and odd grey eyes staring straight at them. There was an almost otherworldly quality about him, and Sam was nearly certain that he was the source of the energy he had felt. His eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily, he seemed stressed and hurried.

"Dean." He spoke.

The addressed person whirled around, his manner turning instantly confrontational, "How did you get in here?"

"It doesn't matter. You are both in danger." Michael walked across the room to the bathroom door, rolling one sleeve up to his elbow. He dropped an odd-looking knife into his hand out of the other sleeve, raising it to make a deep cut in his forearm.

"Okay. And why do you care?"

The man barely glanced at him, covering his fingers in blood from the cut and swiping them across the door, "Because I have a stake in your future." He paused in his task, turning to stare at Dean, "I'm sorry Dean. I wish it didn't have to be like this. This burden you bear… it is too much to ask of a human." He slicked his fingers again and continued to paint the door.

Dean glared at him, "What burden?"

The man, apparently finished with the blood, pulled a Ziploc bag out of his pocket, taking out a few white feathers and sticking them here and there on the symbol, "It is too early to say. All will be revealed in time. It is not important now. For now you must run."

Dean stood, positioning himself in front of Sam and pulling out his gun, "Oh no, asshat. We're not going anywhere. Not until you tell us what's going on!"

"Dean, I assure you, this is for your protection."

"I don't want protection! Now get out of here before I shoot."

The man looked at him, smiling slightly and shaking his head, "You don't get it, do you? You think that you're so powerful, standing there, trembling, some piece of primitive foolishness in your hands. The truth of the matter is, I am the only thing keeping you safe."

"Yeah, well, thanks for that. Now get out."

"I would have you guarded, but there is no one I can trust. They all take orders from my brother. It's not their fault, they don't know any better. And Raphael will take you, and he will twist you to his purpose, and destroy every good thing in you my Father made."

"So, what? You come in and mess up our motel room? Real smart there, dude."

"I am sending you to someone. He will protect you."

Dean's tone turned threatening, "Daddy's gonna come back, and when he does-"

"Your father will not return, not until after you do." He walked towards Dean, cupping his face in his hands. Dean stared up into the man's smiling face, tears leaking out of his eyes in fear as he came to a disturbing revelation.

"You're not human, are you?" the boy whispered.

"It's all right, Dean. You will be safe. Get some rest."

The strange man walked over to the door, reaching up a hand to touch the bizarre symbol, pausing a few inches away, "The person I am sending you too, tell him Michael sent you."

Dean fired off two shots, the first burying itself in the man's chest, the second leaving Dean's gun just as the man slammed his hand onto the middle of the symbol.

* * *

To clarify, in case there was any confusion, the angel in this scene was Michael.


	27. Chapter 27: Previously on Supernatural

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. It is immensely appreciated. So… we have a weird, and kind of complicated plotline starting. Please bear with me. CarverEdlundtheLast: Glad you enjoyed. Yeah, I think Michael just learned the same lesson as that social worker: Do not threaten Dean while he has a gun in his hand. It is not likely to end well. This should be put on billboards across the country. Well, if the season premier is what you're worried about…you should be seeing Cas and the Winchesters together quite soon. ;) Spoilers!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 27: Previously on Supernatural

* * *

The bullet Dean had fired zipped through the air where Michael had been, narrowly missing a man sitting at a table in the next room and burying itself in the far wall. The far wall… that was significantly farther than it had been a second ago.

"SON OF A BITCH! What the freaking hell was that?!" The man had jumped up as the bullet flew an inch in front of his face, yelling the aforementioned curse and glancing furiously at everything before pulling out a pistol from his jeans and stalking over to the doorway, aiming and glaring at Dean with an angry pout, "Who the hell are you?"

Dean straightened his gun and matched his glare, determined not to be outdone, "Who the hell are you?"

"I asked first."

"Not telling, douchebag." He considered sticking out his tongue, but decided that was overkill, and not very action-hero-like. Thankfully, Sammy was hanging back, staying behind him clutching the back of his shirt.

"How did you get in here?"

"None of your business."

"It's damn well my business! This is my freaking house and you tried to freaking shoot me!"

"Hey! Kids present!"

"You're no kid. I don't know what you are, but no way you're a kid. So WHAT ARE YOU?"

Dean heard running, and a second later another man appeared, even bigger and scarier-looking than the first, and also carrying a gun, "I heard yelling. What's going on?"

"These things got into the bunker somehow. Thought it would be cute to try and shoot my damn head off."

The tall man looked at Sam and Dean, then awkwardly turned back to the other man, "Did they?"

"Did they what?"

"Shoot your head off."

The shorter one rolled his eyes and glared at the other one, "Do I look freaking dead?!" His tone turned incredibly sarcastic, "What do you think happened, I just grew a new one and came back to life?"

The tall one looked uncomfortable, "Wouldn't be the first time."

There was a pause, "Shut up."

A voice whimpered from behind Dean, "Dee, I scawed."

Dean didn't look away from the arguing enemy, "It's okay, Sammy. You just stay right there. No one's gonna hurt you. Close your eyes."

At that the two men stopped arguing and turned to stare at Dean. The shorter one spoke, "What did you say?"

Dean felt very afraid, but tried very hard not to show it, instead yelling, "Didn't talk to you!"

The shorter one stalked toward him, looming more terrifying with each step, "Hey, hey. It's okay."

"Get away from me!" Dean had tears in his eyes by now, and was trembling a little in abject terror of the man in front of him.

Sam, having finally summoned sufficient courage, peeked around Dean, his eyes widening at what he saw. It was them, from his dreams. He was uncertain how they had gotten big and real, but it didn't really matter. He smiled. He remembered this Dean. A big, scary, violent mental wreck, but still the same Dean he already knew. He was glad to see him.

Dean stared in horror as Sam ran toward the scary man with outstretched arms, "Sammy, no!" He wanted to reach out and pull him back, protect him from this threat and yell at him later for putting himself in danger, but he had to focus on his aim. Hopefully the threat of getting shot would dissuade the man from any thoughts he might have of hurting the child.

Sammy stopped in front of the man, looking up at him quizzically as he spoke, "Dee?" A smile spread over his face and he held up his arms, asking to be held. Dean almost dropped his gun in shock. Sammy never wanted anyone else, even Daddy's attempts at carrying Sam were met with screams and frightened cries for Dean. Yet the toddler seemed to have taken an instant liking for this blond stranger, and Dean really wasn't sure how he felt about this turn of events.

The man dropped to a crouch in front of Sam, a smile flitting over his features as his grip relaxed to dangle the pistol uselessly from his fingers. "Hey, kid. Uh, can you tell me your name? Sorry, just need some confirmation." Sam dropped his arms, seemingly disappointed in the result of his request.

"Don't tell him anything!" Sammy turned back to look at the panicked boy wide-eyed, before turning back at the man. Jerk. Probably wasn't even human. Sam slowly nodded. The traitor. Dean quickly glanced to check. Yep, the tall one was also watching intently, staying well back in the doorway leading to the library.

"Can you tell me what it is?"

"Sammy," The babyish voice replied.

Dean decided this had gone quite far enouph. A distraction was in order. "Hey, dick! You human?"

The man inclined his head toward Dean, never taking his eyes off the toddler, "That your brother?"

Sam nodded.

"Seems like kind of a jerk." A low chuckle emitted from the tall one in the doorway, and Dean sent him a poisonous look. Sam grinned and nodded.

"Okay, here's a toughie. Your last name? You know that one?"

That was enouph. Obviously this guy was going to get all the answers he wanted, and he may as well get them from Dean. Maybe then he would leave his little brother alone, "Winchester, okay? He's Sammy, I'm Dean. I'll tell you what else, our daddy's gonna show up any minute, and then he's gonna whip your ass." Somehow it didn't come out quite as threatening as he had intended, more like desperate pleading. The blond man sent him a sad look, almost… regretful? Then he turned his attention back to Sammy, "Well that's good enouph for me. I don't know how the hell this happened, but… come here, Little Brother. We'll test you out later." What? Now Dean was really confused.

Sam ran gleefully into the man's arms and he stood, holding the smiling toddler close to his chest. He stared at Dean, "Seriously, dude? Come on, lose the gun."

"Put down my brother!" Dean said, panic evident in his voice.

"It's okay, I promise. Sammy'll vouch for me, won't you, Sammy?" The two-year-old sighed, burying his face in the man's shoulder. He looked up with a done expression, "Typical. Sam!"

The man in the corner at last showed signs of life, "What?"

"Tell me not to be an idiot, please. Make me lose the gun."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know! Figure it out!" He walked off to some other part of the building, disappearing through the library, talking to Sammy all the while. The tall one sighed, pushing himself off the doorframe he had been leaning against. "So, uh, hi. Look, I know this is hard to grasp, and uh, you've never been the best at listening, but uh… oh crap, this is gonna sound weird." He sighed. "Look, I don't know how to say this so I'm just gonna say it. We think you're in the future. I'm Sam. That man that just left, well… That was Dean. That was you."

The gun faltered, "You're Sam?"

The man nodded.

"Prove it."

"Okay." He thought for a second, probably trying to determine how much Dean knew. "Our parents' names are John and Mary. You were born January 24, 1979. I was born May 2, 1983. Dad's a hunter. He means well and he loves us both, but he isn't around much and he isn't always the nicest to you."

"More." So far all he had gotten were facts and dates. He was going to need a hell of a lot more than that to accept this adult as Sammy.

"Um… You're the one who raised me, not Dad. Hey, uh, you used to read to me out of that book, uh, "Knights of the Round Table" or something. You borrowed it from our room at Bobby's. We called him Uncle Bobby, by the way. You gave up everything for me. Hell, there were more than a few times where you went hungry to make sure I ate."

Dean stared at him. It was far too much information to ignore. Still… "What happened to you?"

Sam gave an odd little head tilt, "I grew up."

Dean had known he himself would, of course, someday. But that had always been so far in the distant future that he hadn't really considered it much. And Sammy growing up… the thought had never occurred to him. Moreover, time travel? The whole notion was preposterous. However, those were definitely his baby brother's puppy dog eyes staring out at him, begging for belief. The pistol finally lowered.

"Sammy?"

The man smiled, familiar dimples revealing themselves, "Yeah."


	28. Chapter 28: Wayward Sons

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading. Your responses made a welcome change to staring at rain. By the way, Future!Sam and Dean are supposed to be sometime post season ten/eleven. I have not seen either season, but have seen a little bit about it on the internet and plotlines may be referenced. Also, I know there will be canon backstory in season 11: Episode 8 "Just my Imagination". If someone could summarize the flashbacks/backstory revealed for me when it happens I would be immensely grateful. CarverEdlundtheLast: You're welcome. I'm so glad you liked it! To explain, Sam recognizes the adult versions because he has been having premonitions for the past year and a half, many of which focus on events covered on the show. To him, seeing these guys is completely normal, whereas Dean at this point has basically no experience with the supernatural, and is the only one in the room who is freaking out. ncsupnatfan: Oh yeah. Lots of great Cas interaction coming up. ;) Anyway, Michael's goal here is much the same as it was the last time we saw him: Prevent civil war without allowing Raphael to gain the upper hand. He's trying to buy himself time, no angels will be expecting his intervention, so hopefully they will not think to search elsewhere in time. If he can, he wants to find Raphael, convince him to call off the goons, and bring Sam and Dean back without anyone noticing that anything has happened. MaraDixon413: Hello again! Great to hear from you and so glad you enjoyed the last chapter. Hang in there because it really isn't going to get any more normal anytime soon. As I tried to indicate with the "Finale" thing, several plot threads are coming to a (sort of) close, some of which, like the Michael/Raphael storyline, have not been touched on for a long time. So… hang onto your hats, it's going to get bumpy.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters. Any and all non-canon background characters are mine. I hope you all like them.

* * *

Chapter 28: Wayward Sons

* * *

"Here, drink." Dean looked up at his older self, then at the glass the man had just placed on the kitchen table. "What is it?"

"Water. Come on, you gotta be thirsty." Dean stared at the glass, still a bit unsure. He was thirsty. Finally, throwing caution aside, he grabbed it, guzzling it while it was available. He was a bit surprised. It tasted a lot better than any of the motel water he'd ever had. His older self visibly relaxed. He turned back towards Sam, once again standing in the corner. Sammy sat on the floor nearby, happily playing with a spoon. "He's clean," older Dean announced.

"Clean of what?" The adults glanced at him, then returned to talking between themselves.

After a few minutes of murmuring they sidled over to sit at the table with him. Sam spoke, "Hey Dean. So, uh, we need to ask you some questions."

Dean's hands tightened around the glass. "What about?" he asked, looking from one unreadable face to the other. Older Dean was the next to speak, "How did you get here? I mean, no offence, but this isn't exactly normal."

Dean shrank into the chair. He had been so scared, and the last thing he wanted to think about was how he had gotten there. He sighed, "This has got to be the weirdest thing that ever happened to me."

His older self spoke, "Yeah, well, welcome to the main show." They stared at Dean expectantly.

He glanced at them uneasily, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Sam's expression softened, "It's okay. Just tell us what you remember. We're here for you." The boy glanced at him in confusion, wondering if Sam normally talked to him like that. Then he looked down at the table, "it was the man."

They spoke eagerly, at the same time, "What man?"

Dean looked back at them, "He was scary. He just," Dean drew in a breath, "I think he just appeared in the room. But no one can do that. He couldn't have- I don't think he was a man." The last sentence came out as almost a whisper, as though he was unwilling to make it real by saying it.

The pair exchanged alarmed glances, then older Dean leaned forward, "What did he do?"

"He- had this knife. He cut his arm and started putting the…blood…all over the bathroom door."

Older Dean dug a pad of pad of paper out of his pocket and drew a symbol on it, holding it out for Dean to examine, "Is this what he drew?"

Dean shook his head, "No. It looked nothing like that. And then he stuck feathers all over it. We appeared here when he touched it."

Older Dean turned to Sam, "Didn't Henry say something about angel feathers being used for spells?"

Sam spoke, "Did he… say anything?"

Dean sunk down farther. He didn't want to go any deeper into the memory.

His older self's voice jerked him back to reality, "Hey! Dean! Come on, this is important. I know it sucks but Dad would want you to be a man right now. Answer the question."

Dean thought back, trying to remember something besides fear, "He- he said we were in danger. That I have a burden I shouldn't have to deal with. What did he mean by that?"

Something flickered across older Dean's face, some emotion Dean couldn't quite decipher.

Sam spoke again, "Did he say what was after you?"

Dean swallowed, "He said his brother wanted us. He was sending us to someone 'cause he couldn't trust his own guys. They're all taking orders from-" He paused, unsure how the name was pronounced.

"From who, Dean?"

"R- Ra- Ra-"

Older Dean leaned forward, his eyes widening in alarm, "Raphael?"

Dean nodded. Then his own eyes widened as he remembered, "Oh! He said to tell you Michael sent us. I think that must've been his name."

They looked at each other again, then got up and walked across the room. Young Dean couldn't hear the exchange that followed.

Dean's voice dropped to a whisper, not wanting his child self to hear, "Michael can swing time travel with just a touch, so why the hell is he using a spell?"

"I don't know."

"Really Sam, what the hell."

"I don't know."

"I mean, come on! Seriously, for once the world stops ending for five minutes, and this happens!"

"Dean…"

"Don't 'Dean' me! We just saved the freaking world AGAIN, I think we're entitled to a break!"

The angry whispers were interrupted by a tug on Dean's pants. He looked down into the large puppy dog eyes of Sammy, "What is it, dude?"

"I wet." The toddler whimpered.

Dean sighed, "Right." He craned his head toward the table. Little Dean was gone. Great. He really didn't want to change any more diapers. Ever. He looked back down at the toddler, then got an idea. Picking Sammy up, he shoved him into Sam's arms, "Here."

"Dean, what-"

"I've done this enouph times. Change your own damn diaper for once in your life." He turned and left the room, not giving Sam time to protest.

Sam held the toddler at arm's length, thoroughly alarmed and confused, "Dean. DEAN!" He looked back at Sammy, swallowing nervously.

* * *

Michael got to work the instant the children disappeared. No sign of his work could remain. With a flick of his wrist the lightbulbs were repaired and the symbol was gone. He glared at the door where it had been. He didn't like spells, they were far too messy and unpredictable. Unfortunately, using his grace had not been an option. He could not risk leaving his signal for others to find. They might not know it was him, but it would be far too easy for them to discover the location of the vessels, and that was not something he intended to allow to happen. His hope was to hide the children in the future long enouph to find Raphael, who had taken a vessel and was somewhere on earth. Perhaps Michael could talk some sense into him. Remembering the child's bullet, he pushed grace to his vessel's chest, as well as to the cut on his arm, feeling the wounds close up and heal. He looked around the room one last time, then departed. He didn't have much time. He had to get his vessel home. The man was strong, but not enouph, and if Michael stayed in him much longer he might start to burn. He would find Raphael, deal with the situation, return to the man's home, wipe his memory, and leave him.

* * *

John slammed the door to the Impala, stalking over to the man on the other side of the dirt road, lazily leaning against a pickup. He spoke as John approached, "Took you long enouph to get here."

"Yeah, well, I was three states away. I was on a hunt, Bobby."

"Hey, you don't want human contact, don't call me for info."

"Fine. Now what is so important you couldn't tell me on the phone?"

John watched as the man leaned into the cab, grabbing a newspaper and handing it to him, "See for yourself."

John eyed him inquiringly, then, responding to a raised eyebrow and a nod, looked back at the newspaper.

Bobby spoke, "Forty-one tornadoes, all over Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and Ontario. Happened a couple of days ago, on the 31st."

John looked at him, "You think it's a case?"

Bobby inclined his head, "That much tornado activity ain't normal. This is something all right, something big."

"Any idea what's in the middle of all this?"

"Yep. Ontario and New York share a small strip of border. Almost nothing, can hardly see it on a map. But it is right smack in the middle of all of it."

John sighed, considering. He supposed his case could wait, it was a simple salt and burn on a chained up old house that had had three disappearances in the past hundred years, hardly an emergency. He was fairly certain Sam and Dean had enouph supplies to wait until he got back. After all, this sounded big, like precisely the sort of hunt he did not want them tangled up in.

"Okay, let's get going."

* * *

"Hmmm. Ooh, that's a good one." Gabriel sat in his newly grace-made penthouse, reading Weekly World News and nursing a candy bar like a glass of wine.

" _Did you have to do it like that? Couldn't you just do something normally for once?_ "

He sighed. It was going to be one of those nights, was it, "Michael prayed at me for help. Did everything but send out an open prayer on all wavelengths. What was I supposed to do?"

" _Something a little less high-profile and showy!"_ Gabriel retreated into his vessel's brain, glaring at the human trapped inside, "Well I'm sorry. He asked for a distraction. Hey, it was your idea to help in the first place! I wasn't gonna do anything."

The man made a face, "I just think that 41 tornados might be a little… unnecessarily excessive, that's all. I mean, what are they even going to find?"

Gabriel smiled, "Oh they'll have a hunt, don't worry."

The man rubbed at his face with one hand, "Just, could it not involve a disco ball this time? Please?"

The archangel shrugged, "Maybe. We'll see where it goes. Come on, Felix, where's your sense of fun?"

"I lost it about four hundred candy bars ago."

"That recently, huh?"

Felix groaned.

* * *

Castiel stopped, confused. That wasn't supposed to happen. He had just had the children's signal, and now he couldn't find it. It had just… disappeared. His eyes narrowed. Something was wrong here.

Throwing caution aside, he appeared in the location he had tracked them to, finding himself in yet another of the dull motel rooms that seemed the staple of their existence. He reached out with his grace, feeling for them and withdrawing with a frown when he still gained no results. He didn't know of any warding on the children, so what was wrong? He walked through the motel room manually, just to be sure. They were gone. All their belongings were still there however, abandoned as though left in the middle of play, and he felt his vessel's heart start to race as he began to worry. It had happened. The demons had finally come for them. He had failed in his mission. He picked up a small shirt from the floor, staring at it in unhappiness as he thought. Wherever they had been taken, the location had to be well warded for him to not be able to sense them at all, which meant the demons had probably already gotten started taking them apart. He could almost hear their screams in his mind. The shirt dropped to the floor, the angel that had held it gone. He didn't check for sulfur, there was no time. He would find them. He had to. He was determined.


	29. Chapter 29: Red Herring

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading and for bearing with me through this admittedly rather confusing storyline. By the way, the 41 tornado thing John and Bobby are looking into actually happened. I thought it sounded weird and decided to make it a hunt. You have all been extremely supportive and wonderful. I love you guys! MaraDixon413: So happy you're enjoying! Thanks for reviewing, I love hearing from you. Please keep reading, and I look forward to hearing from you in the future. CatstielWinchespurr: Thanks for reviewing! I think that Cas feels kind of responsible for them, after all, for a long time he was their protector, and I think he also kind of blames himself for this entire fiasco, if he hadn't interfered and gotten banished to Heaven, then they would have been protected, the "demons" never would have gotten to them, and none of this would be happening. Poor Cassie, of course, has no idea what is actually happening. I promise I am trying very hard to keep this as unconfusing as possible. ncsupnatfan: Glad you're enjoying! To explain: Michael asked Gabriel (He doesn't know where he is, he asked for his help on angel radio) to keep John out of the way long enouph to solve this crisis. This whole thing is very quiet and covert, the angels are still trying to remain hidden, Michael and Raphael don't want their soldiers to realize the cold war going between the two generals, or that they are the one's determining orders. CarverEdlundtheLast: I'm glad you like it so far! This is sort of a "season finale" storyline, there's major plot development on multiple fronts. Stay tuned!

Friendly reminder that John has only been hunting for a year and a half. he's probably about on a level with Garth. Maybe. Bobby's only been hunting for six or seven years. Just keep this in mind as the story progresses.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 29: Red Herring

* * *

"What's wrong, Dean?" The elder version of the Winchester brother whirled around, instantly relaxing as he spotted the voice's owner, "Dammit, Cas," he said, walking to throw his arms around the angel, "Warn a guy next time."

They pulled apart, Cas giving a slight smile, "I apologize. I tried to answer your call as promptly as possible."

"No, it's fine. Look Cas… we have a bit of a situation here-"

"Dean, Sam told me to tell you-" They both turned to stare at the boy in the doorway, who suddenly looked extremely awkward, "Who's that?"

Dean looked back at the angel, whose eyes had gone wide and looked slightly in shock. His head cocked and his eyes narrowed slightly, as though attempting to understand what he was seeing. He slowly dragged his gaze back to look at the adult, "What is he doing here?"

Dean motioned toward the angel by way of introduction, "Dean, Cas, Cas, Dean."

Cas's voice rose to a shout, "WHAT IS HE DOING HERE, DEAN?"

Dean wondered what was wrong with him, "Look we have a bit of a situation here, but if I could just talk to you alone-"

"Get 'way from him!" They looked down to see little Sammy, clearly extremely upset, run past the child, racing over to them and attempting to push Cas backward. Dean was surprised. Cas looked astounded, shocked, guilty. Dean wondered why, but grabbed Sammy, pulling the sobbing toddler away into his arms. Dean wiped at his wet cheeks, talking soothingly, "Hey, hey, what's this? Come on, you got nothing to cry about. Shhh." He bounced Sammy a little, hoping to calm him, instead the sobs grew worse.

Sammy didn't know what to do. He was certain that was the boy from his dream, all grown up, just like he had known the other adults were himself and Dean. This was a bad man, he knew it, and unless Sammy could stop it he was going to hurt Dean. He let out more sobs, screaming into the bad man's face, "No hurt Dee! No! Bad!"

What color had been left in Cas's face drained away. He started talking, his voice breaking a little, "I assure you, I will not harm your brother."

"I hate oo! Go 'way!"

Cas blinked back a few tears, "I only want to help."

"NO!" Sammy screamed, launching himself from Dean's grasp and pummeling at Cas's chest, only to be pulled away, still screaming and crying, by Dean. The man shook him a little. "Hey! Hey! Stop it! Do you hear me! Stop!" He walked over to his younger self, handing him the distraught toddler, "Get him out of here."

Little Dean stared at him for a second before he turned and fled. Dean closed the door, then turned back to Cas, who looked like he was in physical pain. "You okay?" He asked, showing rather more tenderness than was his wont.

The angel let out a shaky breath, then turned to his human charge, "I'm fine." Privately, Cas wondered what had brought on the display. He hoped it wasn't a premonition. Something that could induce that reaction- The question remained, why had he arrived in the bunker to come face to face with those children? And how long had they been there? "Dean, I want an explanation, now," he growled.

* * *

Little Dean sat on the bed in the room they had been given, holding Sammy's head against his chest and letting him cry. He didn't know what that tantrum had been about, but it had clearly upset his brother deeply and Dean was there to help him through it. Slowly the wails died to hiccups, and then to sniffles, until Sammy just sat, exhausted, leaning on his big brother's chest with Dean's fingers stroking through his hair.

Sammy didn't know what to think. Why was that man there? Why were his dreams (sort of) coming true? What was happening? He was so scared, and tired, and sleepy, and he just wanted to relax against Dean and fall asleep, but he couldn't let himself, not now, not when he was doing so well. Instead he levered himself off the bed with a sigh, running to the toys Sam had picked up from the store.

"Play with me, Dee!"

"Okay." Dean was a little confused by the sudden switch, but Sammy had been doing this a lot lately so he decided not to question it.

"Hey, uh, can we talk to you?" His older self and Cas stood in the doorway. He glanced at Sammy then nodded, walking through the door with the adults.

* * *

They sat around the library table. Cas spoke, "Dean, how did you get here?"

He looked from one to the other, bewildered, "I already told Sam and-"

"If you could just tell us again. Trust me. Cas can help."

"Okay." He repeated his story. Cas leaned forward slightly, "This symbol, he put it on a door?"

Dean nodded.

"And then he stuck feathers on it."

Dean nodded again. Cas took out a piece of paper, drawing a symbol on it and holding it out for scrutiny, "Is this what the man drew, Dean?"

The boy studied it carefully. They were depending on him, he couldn't let them down, "Yes."

"Thank you. And are you certain his name was Michael?"

Dean nodded.

Cas drew older Dean aside, "You were right. It is indeed a spell for time travel, a very unstable and dangerous one. However, it uses a minimum of grace which would be advantageous if he wanted to hide his actions."

"But why would Michael care about hiding what he was doing from angels? He's their frigging king, for crying out loud."

"I don't know. There is one other advantage to the spell; it binds the subject and the caster together, a sort of leash, if you will. That way the subject can be retracted at any time."

"So we could be having lunch or something and they just go poof?"

Cas tilted his head, "More or less. The important thing, however, is the volatility of it. I have never seen it used on anyone so young. It's not even supposed to be used on humans."

Dean paused, "Wow. So, Michael's a thoughtless jerk. Well, tell me something I don't know."

Cas's eyes narrowed, "Dean, if he used this spell it is because he was desperate. He must have had a good reason for it. He saved your life, most likely. You owe him some minimal amount of gratitude."

"Well, sorry," Dean replied sarcastically.

"We must keep an eye on them. I scanned Dean during the interview, he does not appear to have suffered any ill effects. I was not concerned for him anyway. My worry is for Sam."

That got Dean's attention, "What, why?"

"He is very young, and his condition is…complicated… to say the least. There are too many unstable variables." He walked off, not giving Dean time for further questions. The man shook his head at the floor, "I'm gonna kill that winged dick."

* * *

"Okay, here we are. Middle of nowhere, USA." John spoke, glaring at Bobby from his seat on a rotting log beside the fire. They had driven to the location, more or less on the other side of the country, and set up camp in some woods near the road so they could sleep in their cars. All on a hunch about some weather phenomena. He was feeling pissed.

"Well, this is where the job is. Come on, let's get to work."

John turned away from where he had been staring at the woods, "Uh, yeah. Okay, what do we know so far?"

Bobby picked up a binder, flipping through it as he spoke, "Stuff like this is pretty specific. Ain't many things got the mojo."

John stared at him, waiting for him to continue, "And?"

Bobby looked up, "What, you think I got all this stuff in my head? I did some research, though. Got it pretty well narrowed down." He handed John the binder, "Probably some kind of pagan god or witch or some crap."

John looked back up, "Witch? Those are real?"

"Yeah. It'd have to be really powerful though. Ain't never heard of nothing on this scale."

John nodded, turning back to the research. He flipped through page after page, growing increasingly nervous. These "pagan gods" sounded bad. "Hey Bobby, this stuff looks pretty bad. Maybe we should call in someone else."

"Are you kidding?"

John set the binder to one side, resting his face on his steepled fingers and rocking slightly as he tried to explain, "Look Bobby, I hate calling help. You know that. But, pagan gods? Witches? We're out of our pay grade. It isn't cowardice if you don't know what the hell you're doing."

"You wanna run?"

"What? No. Just… we aren't the best hunters ever. You can't deny that. You know people who are better qualified. Bring one of them in. We stick to salt-and-burns and werewolves."

"John, I-"

John stood up, holding up a hand as he nervously paced around, "No, never mind. Forget I said anything. Let's take this thing out."

* * *

Dean looked up as he heard the door open. His older self stood in the doorway, holding a plate.

"Hey, uh, we missed you at dinner. Figured I'd bring you someth- What's wrong?"

The child looked back at his hands, "Nothing."

The man nodded unbelievingly, head bobbing oddly and lips pouting out as he set the plate on a table and walked to sit on the bed, "Talk to me."

"I said there's nothing wrong."

"Yeah, you did." He paused, waiting." Come on, we both know you're lying. I'm you, remember? Now, what's up?"

Dean turned his head to avoid his older self's gaze, "I'm gonna leave."

"You're what?

He looked back at the man, "Look, I saw you and Cas talking, all right? You're worried. You're trying to hide it but I can tell."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to-"

"I'm not done." Older Dean's mouth shut, eyes widening and his head pulling back in an affronted look.

"I have people after me. They're determined, and they're not gonna stop. I've seen TV, I know how this works."

The man shook his head pityingly, "Oh, kid. You don't have a clue, do y-"

"Shut up. As long as I'm here, Sammy's in danger, both of him. With me gone, maybe the bad guys will leave him alone."

"Okay, but, where will you go?"

Dean paused, "Uncle Bobby's. He can help me. Meanwhile, Dean, you gotta drag Dad back from whatever hunt he's on. Promise me, please. He can protect you guys."

Older Dean spoke, "Yeah, little problem with that plan-"

"Please!"

"Dean…" There was a pained look on the man's face, one the child recognized all to well. He was silent for a moment, then his words came out as a frightened whisper, "Where's Daddy?" Dean knew the answer. It was just what he had always been afraid of, the reason he had always clung to Dad before a hunt. A million scenarios rushed through his head as he waited for confirmation of his worst nightmare. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Dean was only upset because he was on the other side of the country. Maybe…

It was the older version's turn to study the floor, "He died. Long time ago."

Just like that the bottom went out of Dean's world. Dad was dead. Sure, it was in the future, but it was still happening.

He thought, his breathing heavy as he held back tears. Dad wouldn't have wanted him to cry. _Only babies cry, Dean._ He had to keep going, "Okay. You take care of Sam, and I go to Uncle Bobby's. You're tough, it can work without Dad."

The man shook his head. Dean glared at him. It was a good plan! What was this jerk's problem? Oh. Oh no. Dean's face wilted as he realized, "Uncle Bobby too?"

The man nodded. Dean collapsed into his arms, any semblance of control gone as he sobbed. The two people in the world he cared about, other than Sammy, and they were gone.


	30. Chapter 30: I Dream of Lucy

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. MaraDixon413: Thanks for your review! Glad that you're enjoying. CatstielWinchespurr: Yes, poor Dean. But then, we all knew he would have to find out at some point. Dean wouldn't care about multiple apocalypses, the thing that that would hit him (As a time travel plot this is unfortunately important) are the deaths. CarverEdlundtheLast: I'm sorry. No, not really. *Evil Author Laugh* Let the feels continue! You're right though, Bobby's death is about the most heartbreaking thing that has ever happened in this show. Just warning you now… the feels will get worse, this is just the beginning. I recommend a shock blanket.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 30: I Dream of Lucy

* * *

"What the hell, man!"

Castiel slammed the demon up against a wall with his grace, sliding his blade down into his hand and approaching the thing, "Guess again."

Its eyes widened and it started to struggle as Castiel stepped into the light, "Wh- What ARE you?

"It doesn't matter. Where are the children? What have you done with them?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The angel stepped a little closer, letting his eyes linger on it for a moment before thrusting his blade into its leg. "Wrong. Answer," he snarled. Castiel ripped the weapon free, pausing as the demon wailed in pain before continuing. "I'll ask again. Where. Are. They?"

"I. Don't. Know."

"You do know. You must know."

"I don't"

He stared at the abomination, finally deciding he believed it, "Then you are no use to me." He reached up, frustrated at the difficulty caused by his vessel's diminutive size, and put his hand on the thing's head, smiting it until it fell down, dead. He then walked away, wiping his hand on his jacket in disgust. That was the fifth one. He had wasted a great deal of time. The mistake must not be repeated.

* * *

Sammy rubbed at his eyes with his hands and yawned. He was so tired. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He stared at the toys in front of him. Huh. That was strange. Why was the room spinning? Why was he seeing double? Oh, he was so tired. Sleep was all he could think of anymore. Maybe just a few minutes… NO! He forced his eyes open. No sleep. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't…

 _Sammy found himself cowering naked in the corner of a large room. Looking about, he saw it was empty, with the exception of himself and an ornate chair, in which sat perhaps the oddest creature he had ever seen. It was like a man, with blond hair and a bit of stubble, slightly shorter than Sam was at the moment. However a pair of massive pure white wings fell lazily from his shoulders into the chair to either side of him, the enormous appendages sweeping the floor. He smiled in a way that made Sam shiver, "Well, Sammy, what do you want to do? After all, we always have such a nice time together."_

 _Sam stared at him, not saying anything. In the scene, memory, whatever this was, Sam didn't even know what was going on anymore, he must have made a response of some sort, because the man shook his head, making a disappointed clicking sound with his mouth, "So_ _rude_ _. And here I was thinking we were friends. Really Sam, I'm hurt." He stood, "Well, anyway, to repeat the question, what shall we do? There are a lot of options." He started counting off on his fingers, "Let's see, there's… torture, messing with your head, happy memories with a twist at the end, um… torture, loved ones making you miserable, letting you think you're out then dragging you back, that's always fun… oh yes, aaaand torture. Thoughts?"_

 _Sam's eyes widened in horror._

* * *

I'm telling you I heard something!" John was half-yelling at this point. It was dark and he was getting really nervous.

Bobby grunted, "Never said you didn't. We do know there's something out there, after all."

John stared at him, fuming. Why did Bobby have to be so annoying? He wished the man would disagree with him. Hell, agree with him and spring into action, something. John just wished he wouldn't sit there with that vaguely condescending expression that invariably meant he thought you were wrong but wasn't going to address it. That was annoying as hell, and it always gave John a strong urge to punch the man in the face.

"Well, shouldn't we get some salt or something? Put a line around the camp?"

Bobby stared at him as if he was insane, "Salt? For pagan gods and witches? The hell you been smoking, John?"

John paced, running a hand through his hair, "I just- I don't like sitting here not DOING anything."

"I know. But look, we don't know what to be ready for. Let's just sit down and think about this."

John paused, "I need a beer." He stood up and walked toward the cars, mentally ranting at the man behind him. He froze as he heard a voice behind him.

"John."

He turned in confusion. How… No. It couldn't be… That voice… He had to be hearing things. But then again, maybe… "Mary?"

"Hello, John."

His head turned wildly as he walked, desperately attempting to locate the source of the voice, "MARY!"

Bobby gave him an odd look, "Your wife Mary?" He paused. "You okay?"

"Shut up. I heard her. MARY!"

Bobby stood, sidling over to talk over John's shoulder, "You know, these woods, they can do things to people…"

John whirled to face him, "I am NOT going crazy, Bobby. I know what I heard. Now, Mary's out there, alone. She needs my help." He turned back toward the woods, struggling to escape Bobby's grasp, "MARY!"

Bobby grabbed him as he started to leave, shaking him a little as if to ground him, "Listen to me, you stubborn bastard! Think about this rationally. How could she be here? Seeing as she wasn't killed or buried here it ain't likely. And even if she is… how many ghosts you met want to help folks?"

That was enouph. John whirled, planting a solid punch to Bobby's nose. In a somewhat calmer voice he added, "Don't talk about her like that."

Bobby shook his head, hand up to the hurt place, "Please, just, we don't even know what's going on."

John paused, then cursed, kicking the dirt and walking towards the cars, muttering expletives. Bobby spoke, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get the goddamn salt! Where the hell do you think I'm going?" He yelled.

Bobby smiled despite himself.

* * *

 _The man from the motel suddenly appeared between Sam and the stranger. Except now he too had wings, these a light grey. His voice was deep and challenging, "You will not touch him again."_

 _The white-winged man tilted his head, "Michael? What are you doing? Are you so disappointed at the loss of your own little boy toy you want mine? Well, go ahead. I don't mind sharing."_

 _Michael did not move, "No, Lucifer."_

' _Lucifer' shrugged, "Then what do you care? It's just a human after all."_

" _He may be 'just a human,' but he is our Father's creation, and as such I shall protect him."_

 _Lucifer smiled, "Need I remind you, this human is the reason we are trapped in Hell."_

" _I know."_

" _Then why?"_

" _Because it is what God would want."_

" _I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand. This God who abandoned you?"_

" _Yes."_

 _Lucifer narrowed his eyes, "Why? What allegiance do you owe him?"_

" _The allegiance of a good son."_

 _Lucifer scoffed, "You're a fool, Michael."_

" _Perhaps. But if you lay a finger on him, it will be the last thing you ever do."_

 _Lucifer smiled thinly, "Brave words. Are you truly prepared to kill me? For this… cockroach?"_

" _Yes. Be that as it may, I have no wish to fight you, brother. If you want to hurt someone, hurt me. Leave the human alone."_

 _Lucifer chuckled, "Following in Daddy's footsteps. No."_

" _Then I am sorry." Michael rushed at him, a hand held out to use his grace as a weapon. The other being smiled slightly, then raised a hand and twitched a couple of fingers. Michael flipped and skidded across the floor, landing on his back with his wings outstretched, the wind knocked out of him. Lucifer casually walked over, setting his foot on a joint of one wing and grinding down, causing Michael to groan in pain._

" _You thought you could beat me? Here?"_

 _Michael looked pleading, "Lucifer-"_

 _That creature smiled, "You're on my turf now. I make the rules. Grace works differently here. But then you wouldn't know that."_

" _Please, just…aah" The uninjured wing beat slightly in pained protest, ruffling the other's blond hair._

" _I've had millennia to practice. I know every quirk of this disgusting cell."_

" _Brother-"_

" _I_ _am king here. Don't you forget that. No matter what you do, no matter how you try, it will be centuries before you can even hope to compete with me."_

" _Lucifer. Please. You don't have to torture him. There's another way. A better way. We can live together, in peace." He paused, voice breaking, "As a family."_

 _The other didn't respond, instead saying, "You don't want the man hurt? You want to take his place?"_

 _Michael stared up at him, a heartbroken look on his face, "Yes." He said finally._

 _Lucifer appeared enraged by this, "Look at you, pathetically helping this monstrosity! This is why I rebelled. We should be exalted! The greatest creations our Father ever made, and he tells us to bow to_ _them_ _! To a beast with a soul, twisted and mangled, prone to decadence and cruelty!"_

" _You should lie where I lie, Lucifer. Perhaps your vision would be clearer. It was not humans that cast the world into its death throws for convenience's sake. It was us." He paused, catching his breath, "It is not a human who now holds his foot to my wing."_

 _Lucifer seemingly ignored him, "Look at what humanity has done to you. One of their number casts you into Hell, and still you crawl to him like a worm, begging him for the_ _privilege_ _of sacrificing yourself. It's disgusting! Pathetic! You were once a warrior, God has changed you to a dog!"_

 _Michael reached up a hand, grasping Lucifer's leg, "Then what are you waiting for, Lucifer?! Just have me already!"_

 _The thing looked almost apologetic, his voice calming, "I don't want to harm you, Michael. Are you certain this is what you want?"_

" _Just… Just do it."_

" _Fine." He reached a hand down to grasp the outer part of the wing he was standing on, suddenly pulling it up with a sharp snap. Michael moaned and clenched his teeth, obviously in horrible agony but managing to bear it. Lucifer laughed and continued to move the broken limb, grinding the pieces together and causing even more pain as he bent down to speak into Michael's ear, "You see brother, that's why I don't want you. You're boring. You're too good a soldier to scream. It's no fun if they don't scream."_

" _l'll-I'll scream if you want me to." He gasped and whimpered involuntarily as Lucifer gave the wing a particularly painful twist._

" _That's not the point. You can't. Not really. You just don't have it in you. The human on the other hand…"_

 _The injured being had tears on his face, though whether of pain or sorrow Sam was unsure, "Lu-Lucifer, p-please… this isn't you."_

" _Sorry to bust your bubble, Mikey, but this is all me." He stood and walked toward Sam, snapping his fingers to erect a cage around Michael._

" _So, Sammy, where were we?"_

* * *

"Hey!" Dean looked up, responding to a nudge at his shoulder. His older self set a plate and a glass of water on the table, "Eat." He paused, then spoke again as the six-year-old looked at him quizzically, "Come on, I know what you've been eating. Spagettios and chips ain't gonna cut it. Nutrition, here."

Sam smiled at them over the top of his… whatever the hell that was, "Hey, Dean, what are you trying to do?"

The man sat down, grabbing a bottle off the counter and opening it on the edge of the table, "Just looking out for myself, Sammy. He's never gonna grow if he keeps eating like that."

Sam chuckled, "Pot, kettle, black, much?"

"Shut up." He turned his attention back to little Dean, "So, uh, how's the incredible boy wonder?"

Dean was confused, "What?"

"Uh, Sammy. Little Guy. Don't see him."

"Oh, he's in our room. He was sleeping, I didn't want to disturb him."

The blond man nodded, "Good call. Yeah, I remember he didn't do nearly enouph of that. Used to drive us nuts."

Sam looked from one Dean to the other, "Sorry, am I missing something?"

A smile ghosted over older Dean's lips and he took a swig from his bottle, "Just, uh, you were really active. Hell, _I_ barely got any sleep. Every time I tried you were right there, wanting to play chase or something. 'Course," He leaned toward the child conspiratorially, "He isn't much better now. Get him on a case, or one of his other nerd things," he shook his head, "You're doomed for the duration."

"Hey! I'm not that bad!" Little Dean laughed. He liked them. If this was where he and Sam ended up… he could live with that. They were together, with a house – no, a mansion, getting along, and they seemed happy. There were worse endings. Even if they were hunting. Even if Dad was dead. His smile faded at that thought, and he decided to distract himself, "Hey, Sammy. What's that thing?"

Sam seemed confused for a second, then pointed at the thing in front of him. "What, this? Oh, um, this is a laptop. Guess you don't really have these where you're from. Here, I'll show you. Come here." Following his directions, Dean climbed in his lap, staring in amazement at the strange device as Sam demonstrated its use. They all three sat, talking and laughing, enjoying the pleasant day.

* * *

 _Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Sammy suddenly found himself on a table, his wrists and ankles chained down. Michael had dragged himself up somewhat on the bars and Sam could hear his yells as Lucifer walked over to the table to stare down at him, "Lucifer, listen to me! You don't have to do this. This isn't his fault. Think about it. These humans did not stop us on their own. The angel Castiel was brought back to life in their service. They were removed from the scene when you were released. There have been other signs too. Don't you understand? God did not want us to succeed. We were blind, too wrapped up in ourselves to see His will but He made it plain. The time has not yet come for Paradise. Lucifer, please, I know you. You're better than this. Don't-"_

 _Lucifer stepped away from the table, rolling his eyes, "On and on and ON. Why can't he just SHUT UP? No matter." A movement of his fingers and Michael was silenced. Sam could see his lips moving but he couldn't hear any sound from them. Lucifer smiled, "Yes, that's much better. Now," He sat back down in his chair, leaning forward excitedly as though giving the best news in the world, "I've decided on an activity. I think torture with an emotional twist might be best for this evening, don't you? Well, it's not really evening but…" He sighed, "Anyway, recognize someone?" Sam turned his head, struggling at his bonds and his eyes widening in horror at the sight that greeted him._

 _An instrument table sat nearby, filled with sharp, miserable-looking objects. A man stood beside it, his face hard and pain-filled, but with a malicious, sadistic smile that made Sam shiver._

" _Hello Sammy," said Dean._


	31. Chapter 31: Into the Fire

A/N: Hello dear readers! **MaraDixon413** : I'm sorry. I hope you weren't to traumatized by this chapter. I'm evil, I know. **CarverEdlundtheLast** : I'm sorry. I hated doing this to my babies, however… Plot! Angst! Anyway, I'm very glad that you considered it to be so well-written. Thank you. **ncsupnatfan** : I will allow the fic to answer your questions, I assure you you will receive answers shortly. I'm glad you've been enjoying this plotline! Thank you for reviewing! **iriskary** : Wow! Two reviews! Thank you! It is always wonderful to meet a new reader. I'll start with your review of chapter 24: Congratulations, you are the first person to guess both canon scenes correctly. YAY! *Tosses confetti* Thank you for being so dedicated. Castiel is one of my favorites too, by the way. Don't worry about this fic ending anytime soon, I have twenty years of plot yet to cover, I will be working on this monster for a long time to come. Now for your second review: I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I promise I will keep writing. I don't think I could stop here anyway without garnering bombs around my house. Just keep reading…

* * *

Chapter 31: Into the Fire

* * *

" _Forty years, Sam. Forty damn years." Dean picked up a tool, studying it lovingly. He put it down, leaning against the instrument table to speak. "You want to know the great thing about this? I finally get a crack at… you." he pointed at Sam, laughing slightly, dryly. He stood back up, returning to his perusal of the items, "Almost makes all those other sons of bitches worth it. After all," he turned back towards Sam, "It's your fault, isn't it?" Sam studied him sadly. He looked so worn out and broken, like a plate shattered on the floor, like despite the joyous cruelty stamped across his face he hated everything around him, like he wasn't living of his own volition but by some outside force. Sam had tears in his eyes looking at him, "Oh, Dean… What happened to you?" He wasn't speaking to Dean, but to himself. He had long since given up communicating with the people in his dreams._

 _Regardless, Dean didn't seem to have heard him, continuing to speak, "It's all your fault. The torture, the pain, everything I've done… the freaking Gate to Hell and everything after, it could have been avoided if you had just had the balls to kill that damn kid when you had the chance."_

 _Sam stared at him, confused. Was Dean angry with him for_ _not_ _killing someone?_

 _There was a pause, like the Sam in the scene had said something. Dean laughed, again that tired, dry laugh that hurt to hear, "Not your fault. Now that's hilarious. Why'd you do it, Sammy? Why'd you have to let him kill you like that? Thirty years on Azazal's rack, and now being his apprentice or whatever, and it all comes down… to you. You hadn't died, I wouldn't of made that deal, and I wouldn't be playing_ _Jailhouse Rock_ _for a bunch of slimy hellbitches."_

" _Dean please… I'm sorry. If this is my fault then I'm sorry."_

 _There was a slight pause, just a second or two, like the Sam in the scene had talked a little longer, then Sam jumped as Dean yelled, "I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE SORRY! I don't want to hear it! You're nothing to me, you understand? Nothing!" He paused, carefully selecting a tool as he spoke, "But then, it isn't just this, is it? You've been sucking the life out of my life for longer than I can remember. You stole my childhood, my chance at a future, and as it turns out, you as good as killed Mom. So guess what, now you're on my rack… and I couldn't be happier about it." He nodded, seemingly satisfied in his choice of instrument, and walked over to stare down at Sam, "Well, guess we'd better get this party started."_

* * *

Little Dean sat on the floor, studying the sleeping toddler. Sammy had been asleep for three hours, and while Dean was glad that he was resting, it struck him as a little odd. He couldn't think of the last time Sammy had gotten that much sleep. Moreover, he had fallen asleep on the floor, he had never done that before.

Suddenly the baby let out a soft moan, limbs twitching like a dog having an active dream. Dean sidled closer, beginning to grow alarmed as the moans and twitches increased.

The little boy shook him, his voice pleading with worry, "Sam. Sammy. Come on, wake up." No effect.

Dean's heart raced. Now he really was worried. Why wasn't Sammy responding? A particularly loud moan escaped the two-year-old, and he flung out an arm, catching Dean in the face. The child shook him again, "Sammy! Wake up! Come on, please!" He turned his head toward the door, "Help! Dean! Cas! Sam! Help!" He gathered the toddler into his arms as he rocked back and forth, curling around him until their foreheads touched, "It's okay, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay."

* * *

Bobby stared at John from across the fire. He worried about the guy. There were days when he seemed slightly unhinged, and people like that often became the worst kind of hunters, the crazy ones who didn't care about anything but killing. The ones who would rush into conflict, unheeding of their safety and others. The one's who reveled in danger and gore. He didn't want that for John. "Hey, you okay?"

The dark-haired man left off his nervous fidgeting and turned to look at Bobby, "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

Bobby silently stared at him.

"My wife might be out there, Bobby, and I just put out salt to keep her away. Do you think I'm okay?"

Bobby sighed, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"No you don't."

"What?"

"This is just the sort of damn thing I hate. That stupid, awkward, fake-sympathy 'I know how you feel' crap people spew all over the place. You don't know how it feels, you can never know how it feels, so stop. I don't want to hear a damn bit of it. Shut up and leave me alone."

Bobby sat, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, Bobby started to speak, "I… lost someone too."

John glanced at him distractedly, "Really? Who?"

The other hunter cleared his throat, voice breaking as he talked. Man he didn't want to talk about this, "My wife. Few years back." But if he could get through to John somehow…

Now he seemed to have the man's attention, "Oh. What was her name?"

"Karen."

John paused. "She, uh, she another hunter?"

Bobby shook his head, "No." He paused, "Reason I started hunting, actually. Thing got her."

John looked down, then back up, apology shining in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Bobby. I've- I've really given you a lot of crap. I thought- I assumed…"

"It's okay. You didn't know. I don't talk about her much. Hurts, you know?"

"Yeah." There was a long pause.

"Look, John. I know how hard it is. Believe me, I know. You think your gonna die, like the pain is gonna eat you alive. But you can't let it. You decide what to do with your life, and you tell all the evil sons of bitches to jump in the lake."

There were tears in John's eyes, "I have to find Mary's killer, Bobby. It's all I have left."

"I know the feeling. But what if you can't? I've been there John, and some things, they can't be killed. Then what? You have to get on with your life."

"No."

"No?"

"Anything can be killed. You just have to find a way."

Bobby sighed, "Yeah, okay, I hear you. Well, if we're done feeling our feelings, maybe we could get back to work."

* * *

A few minutes after Dean yelled the adults came running in, pausing to stare at the scene.

Older Dean dropped by the child's side, "What happened?"

Dean looked at him tearfully, "He won't wake up. I think there's something wrong with him."

Cas walked over, staring down at the toddler for a moment, his face grim, before grabbing up Dean and handing him off to the tall man, "Get him out of here, Sam."

"No! No, I won't leave him!" Dean flailed, striking out at everything within reach in panic, "I won't-"

Cas spoke, "Listen to me, Dean. Nothing will happen to your brother, I promise. I failed you once, this is my fault. This… it never should have happened. I'm sorry. Just give me a chance. Dean and I, we'll save him, don't worry. Please believe me."

The child didn't respond, but he stopped fighting and was carried, crying, out of the room. The angel rushed back to the spasming toddler, putting a finger to his forehead as he moved him to the bed. Sammy quieted, his muscles relaxing. Older Dean stared at Cas with wide eyes, "Well? Is he okay?"

"No, that was merely a symptom. But hopefully he will not suffer physical injury."

Dean paused, "Cas, you know I've forgiven you, right? For all that stuff you did?"

"Of course, Dean."

"Then what was all that back there?"

The angel was silent.

"Okay, fine, have it your way. What's wrong with him?"

"He's having a nightmare."

Dean looked up, confused, "Nightmare?"

"Yes, a… premonition."

"A premonition?! How the hell could he be having a premonition?!"

Cas sighed, "If you remember, Azazal infected him with demon blood-"

"Yeah, I know, but it didn't have an effect 'till a few months before I picked him up from Stanford. He wasn't having premonitions at this age!"

"Dean…"

"What?!"

"Demon blood is a drug, you know that. It has an immediate effect. He started dreaming the night he was dosed."

"Well then why the hell didn't he tell me about it? Huh? Prophetic nightmares? I think I'd remember him telling me about that."

"He didn't know. It was a single dose. Slowly, but surely, the effects wore off. It's how it works. Azazal wasn't trying to give him powers, he was building immunity. That way he would be able to drink gallons as Lucifer's vessel."

The blond man shook his head, "Freaking demons. Still, it's been a year and a half for him, I think it should have worn off by now."

"I said slowly. It's like an illness, Dean, either it runs its course or it's forced to a crisis. I was worried about this with the spell. It forced him to a crisis, either he survives, or he dies."

"Dammit." Dean paused, "What is this? This never happened. Not when we were kids, not ever! He's having freaking seizers!"

"The experience is too traumatic. He can't handle it, and his actions are leaking through to his body. It's like, um, like when a dog's paws twitch in its sleep."

"Wake him up!"

"Dean…"

"Wake him up! You're a freaking angel of the Lord. Do it!"

Cas focused, one hand on Sammy's chest, then looked up. "I can't."

"Okay, well, how do we get in?"

"What?"

"Come on, we gotta get in there, don't we? Help him wake himself up?"

"Dean, this is the worst I've ever seen him. It's even worse than..." He paused, "Whatever he's seeing…I'm not sure you want to-"

"My brother is in there, and he is in pain, dammit! I don't care what the hell I have to go through to get to him, I'll do it! Now get. Me in. His. Damn. Head."

Cas stared at him, then, "Okay."

"Good."

The angel positioned himself, "Put your hand on my arm."

* * *

" _Where are we?" Dean spoke, staring at the room around them. It was large, a white nothingness that barely seemed to have edges. It was just… blank. Cas was staring about in horror, "No. no, no, no, no, no, nO, NO! This is wrong, this is very wrong. He should_ _not_ _be able to see this."_

 _Dean looked confused, "Well, what is it?"_

 _The angel was breathing heavily, eyes wide with alarm, "The Cage."_


	32. Chapter 32:The Prisoner of Azkaban

A/N: Hello everyone! Aaaaannnd the chapter you've all been waiting for: Dean and Cas rescue Sammy! Yay! On another note: is there some reason no one at all reviewed or otherwise responded to the last chapter? Please review or PM on this one! Thank you.

* * *

Chapter 32: The Prisoner of Azkaban

* * *

 _Dean stared at the room, which with Cas's words had taken on a decidedly sinister aspect, "The cage. As in,_ _THE_ _Cage? Michael and Lucifer The Cage."_

" _Yes."_

" _Awesome," Dean said sarcastically._

" _He should not be seeing this. Psychics are limited to earth. I don't… understand."_

" _Well, you said this was some kind of 'super-premonition' side effect of Michael's spell," He shook his head, "I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch." He walked through carefully, timidly, uncertain he really wanted to see what was happening._

 _He stopped, putting the back of one hand to Cas's chest to stay his progress, "Who's that?"_

 _A metal cage sat in front of them, inside a pale-faced, platinum-haired man, his head bent to hold his hands over his ears and face, one light grey wing pulled around him protectively while the other hung useless from his back, obviously badly broken._

 _Cas knelt, studying him, head cocked curiously. "I believe it's Michael."_

 _Dean stared, trying to reconcile what he knew of that individual with the rocking, shattered figure before him. Finally he walked up, hitting the top of the cage with a loud crash, "Hey! Mikey! Need to talk to you!"_

" _He can't hear you Dean."_

 _The man glanced in Cas's direction, "What do you mean he can't hear me? 'Course he can hear me." Dean shouted again, "Come on, Mike. Don't be a dick."_

 _He felt Cas's presence at his shoulder, "It's a premonition. He's not real, merely an actor in a play. Come on, we need to find Sam."_

" _Right. Sam." He followed Cas away, continuing to stare at the archangel, now collapsed on the floor sobbing, his good wing nearly hiding him from view. Dean almost felt sorry for him. He forced his gaze away, getting back on target._

* * *

 _Finally, after what seemed like forever, Dean spotted his brother's lanky form. He raced over to the table as quickly as his legs would take him, looking the long-haired man over. There were no visible wounds, but Dean knew that meant nothing. The physical form here was merely a mental construct that they could comprehend. Souls looked nothing like that. He took in the chains holding Sam in place, the red liquid pooling over the table's surface and his blood boiled._

 _Sam let out a faint moan as Dean's fingers brushed against a bond on his wrist. His eyes flew open and he started shaking, "No. No, please. DEAN! Don't- Please. No…" He continued to plead as Dean looked down at him, finally putting a hand on his shoulder, speaking soothingly, "Hey. Hey, Sammy, it's okay, I'm here now. No one's gonna hurt you."_

" _No. Please. Dean. No more, please…"_

 _Dean looked at Cas, his green eyes begging for help, "It's his damn dream. Can't he make the chains disappear or something?"_

 _Cas stood off to one side, obviously having decided this was something Dean had to do alone, "He can. But unless he takes control, we have to work within the rules of the dream."_

" _So, basically act like all this is real."_

" _Yes." Dean looked around, trying to ignore Sam's cries as he searched for something to free him. His eyes lit on an instrument table nearby, and he rushed over, perusing the all-too-familiar selection. He tried to force his mind away from thoughts of each item's use and what they must have done to his brother. Still, he felt bile in his throat as he picked up a long, thin knife, almost like a skewer, ignoring the memories forcing themselves at him. Yes, this would do nicely to pick the locks._

 _Sam screamed as he got closer, struggling at his bonds and pleading louder, "Dean, DEAN! Don't- No. No. I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. PLEASE! No more. No more. DEAN!" The man paused above him, staring down pityingly. Sam seemed too far gone to even realize his presence or intentions, continuing to struggle as Dean grabbed one wrist, not even reacting as each limb was released in succession. He lay there, splayed out, moaning and pleading the same as before. He didn't even seem to notice that he was free._

 _Dean sat down on the table beside him, ignoring the blood soaking through his jeans, and gathered the blubbering, pleading wreck into his arms, leaning the big man against his shoulder as he shook and continued his stuttered, staccato, "No. No. No. Please. No…"_

* * *

"Do we have to go out?" Dean asked, trudging tiredly up the stairs behind his adult little brother.

"Well, we need some stuff from the store. Thought you might like to come with me." He stopped on the landing in front of the door, turning and dropping to a crouch to be on Dean's level, "How about I get you some pie. Would you like that? You could pick it out. I never know what kind to get anyway."

Dean glared at him, "Stop trying to distract me! Sammy's in trouble. I should be in there with him, not… going to the damn store." The last part came out a bit softer than the rest, an emphasis on the futility and general pointlessness of the latter activity.

"Hey! Language!" Sam's tone was slightly teasing.

"You can't tell me to mind my language. You're four years younger than me."

"Not right now." However the playful smile still on his face showed he didn't mean it. He stood up, opening the front door. Dean followed him out, still protesting. "Sammy's my responsibility. I should be dealing with this."

"You are dealing with it."

"That guy isn't me. Not… now-me. I don't know anything about him. And I've never even met that creep in the coat. That's Sammy back there, in their hands, and I just, I don't like it." Actually, he wasn't sure he trusted them, but he didn't know how that would be received. He paused, unwilling to say the next words, "I'm scared, Sam." The man turned back, staring for a moment, then scooped Dean up to set him on his hip, "Hey, he's gonna be okay. I'm still here, aren't I? Don't worry about it, Dean and Cas are more than up for the job, I promise. Let's go get some groceries."

Dean leaned his head on the man's shoulder as Sam carried him to the car. It was nice, Sam's secure, warm, safe, comforting hands gripping him tightly. Sam carried him with one hand, using the other to open the passenger door and set Dean down inside.

"And if you even THINK about complaining about me driving…"

"Why would I not want you to drive? It's Dad's car." Sam smiled through the hair hanging over his face, straightening up and walking around to get in the driver's side and turning the key in the ignition, "Words I never thought I would hear you say."

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam said as he put the Impala in gear, turning onto the road and driving away.

* * *

 _They sat for a few minutes, just remaining where they were, Sam pleading and Dean muttering soothing words._

 _Lucifer's voice drifted from elsewhere in the room, "So now you see how much he really hates you. I'm sorry Sammy. The truth hurts, but I guess we all have to learn the truth about our families sooner or later. Brothers are all the same. 'Course, you can't really blame him, you did ruin his life."_

 _Sam stared at the archangel in abject horror. Dean recognized the expression all too well. Was this what Sam had been seeing all those months he was hallucinating? Lucifer sitting in some corner of the room, making snarky, horrible comments?_

 _Lucifer turned towards Michael after a moment, speaking in a proud, almost conversational tone, "He said 'shut up' to me."_

 _Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face, "Hey, HEY. Come on, snap out of it." No response._

 _Dean grabbed Sam's face, forcing him to look back in Dean's direction, "Don't listen to him. Don't even look at him. Listen to me. He can't hurt you, Sammy, he's not real. Hell, he's not even talking to you. Everything's gonna be okay."_

" _Don't hurt me. Please, Dean. Please."_

" _Yeah. Don't worry, I won't. It's okay."_

" _Please, no more, Dean. I'm sorry. Don't hurt me anymore."_

 _Dean's brow knitted, slightly confused by the 'anymore,' but he decided they had more important things to worry about, "I said I won't, Sam. Don't worry. You're safe."_

 _A second later Sam pulled away, a confused and bewildered look on his face, "You can hear me?"_

 _Dean smiled, "'Course I can hear you, you moron." The other man broke down crying again and Dean concernedly grabbed his shoulders, "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Come on, let's get you out of here." He stood up, expecting Sam to follow. He didn't, remaining sitting on the table, head down and a defeated slump to his shoulders._

" _What's going on? What's wrong with me?"_

" _What?"_

 _Slowly Sam's face came up to look at him, "What's wrong with me Dean?"_

" _Well, how should I know?"_

 _The trust shining in his eyes hurt as he spoke, "You're my big brother. You know everything." After a moment he added, "You've never lied to me."_

 _Dean stared. He couldn't remember a time Sam had given him that sort of faith. They were pretty good now, closer than they had been in years, but still… lifetimes of lies and deceit had rendered such a bond as this unimaginable. It reminded him of exactly who this was. Despite his current appearance, this wasn't the Sam he was familiar with. This Sam was two years old, he still had some innocence and hope, and Dean would be damned if he was going to let that go._

" _Please Dean."_

 _It hurt, lying to him like this, but he didn't know what else to say. How do you tell a toddler about demon blood? Dean finally spoke, "There's nothing wrong with you, Sammy. You're fine. You're great." Thinking about it, Dean didn't know if he was lying for Sam's benefit or his, pretending, wishing it was true, that his baby brother had never had to go through that._

 _He turned toward Cas, planning to tell him to wake Sam up._

" _No. I'm not. I'm not fine. I'm freaking out. There's something… inside me, and-"_

 _Dean sat back down, "Listen to me. There is nothing inside you. You're fine, I promise."_

 _Sam seemed to be getting frustrated, "Dean, last time I fell asleep I dreamed I tried to kill Uncle Bobby."_

 _Dean blinked, "What?"_

" _We were in his house, and he was tied up and I- I had this knife, and I was going to- What's wrong with me? How could I do that?"_

" _You wouldn't, Sam. That's not you. Come on, I know you, don't I? You trust me? Okay, well, believe me when I say you wouldn't ever do that."_

" _I don't know what I think anymore. I mean, Dean, I dream all kinds of stuff. Monster's and- and people dying, and… one time you came after me with a hammer. What was that about?"_

 _And top of the list of events Dean didn't want to talk about…_

" _Doesn't matter. Wait, you said 'last time you fell asleep.' How long have you been awake?"_

 _Sam shook his head vaguely, "I don't know. Three days maybe?"_

" _You're two. How the hell could you stay awake three days?"_

 _Sam shrugged, "Determination, mostly. I stayed awake for a week one time. I can't do this, Dean. I've tried, and I can't. Whatever this is… I'm barely surviving." He started crying again, "What is going on?"_

 _Obviously Sam wasn't going to drop it. Regardless, nothing could be gained by hanging around The Cage any longer. "Hey, uh, maybe we should do this somewhere else. Hey, Cas, change of scenery?"_

 _Sam turned to the angel, "What is he doing here?"_

 _Dean started to explain, "Cas helped me out, got me in here. Without him-"_

" _He hurt you!"_

 _Dean glanced from one face to the other. Fortunately, this seemed to be as much news to Cas as it was to Dean, "What?"_

 _Sam shook his head, "It was in a dream. You and I were in a room, like usual, then this guy, he was a lot younger but it was definitely him, he just appeared in the middle of the room, said we had to go with him. You said no, then he put his fingers on your forehead and you fell down, unconscious. He kidnapped us, Dean! What the hell are you doing hanging out with him?"_

 _Cas looked visibly shaken and guilty. Dean decided to defend him anyway. Yeah, he was going to get some answers later, "Listen, Cas has been a good friend. Whatever that was, Sam, you can't take it outa context. I'm sure there was something going on." He glanced at the angel, who didn't meet his gaze._

 _Sam looked hurt, "You're- you're believing this-" he glanced at Cas, "-Whatever he is… over your own brother? Dean, what…" He trailed off, Dean getting déjà vu. A memory forced itself at him, Sam's angry voice,_ _"You chose a vampire over your own flesh and blood!"_

" _Sam…"_

"' _Course, he's not all that much better than that other guy you hang out with."_

 _Dean was confused. He didn't remember having friends at that age. He looked at Sam, "What guy?"_

" _Oh, you know. The one with the dark hair and the bad attitude who drags us everywhere?"_

 _Dean paused, "Who, Dad?"_

 _Sam looked up, mild surprise apparent on his face, "Oh. Is that his name?"_

 _Dean stared, "Wow. Uh, Cas, change of venue, please."_

 _Sam looked back at the angel, "If the dream changes, will I still be… will I still be able to talk like this?"_

 _Cas shook his head, "This is a premonition. If I change the dream, then your subconscious will take over and you will most likely revert to your current age."_

" _Then no."_

 _Dean spoke warningly, "Sam."_

" _I'm not leaving here until I get some answers, Dean. Tell me the truth."_

 _He couldn't do that. "Cas, wake him up."_

" _Don't you dare, Cas!"_

 _Dean stood up, "Wake him up, dammit!"_

 _The room began to fade into a bright white light. The last thing Dean was aware of was Sam's frustrated, desperate yell._

" _DEAN!"_

* * *

Dean blinked, hesitantly removing his hand from Cas's arm as the angel started to shift. They stared worriedly at the small form on the bed, as slowly Sammy's eyes drifted open, "Dee?"

Dean smiled, "Hey, dude. You okay?"

The toddler's expression changed to an intense glare, "GO 'WAY!" He yelled, jumping off the bed and running out of the room. Dean watched him leave, heartbroken. He had done it again. Sam had trusted him, asked for his help, and he had responded by lying, badly. Just like with Gadreel and Benny and a thousand other situations. How could he have done that? Why was he so stupid?

Cas spoke, "Dean-"

"Shut up."

The angel looked down for a moment, then spoke again, "Let him go, Dean."

"Dammit, Cas, what was I supposed to do? He's freaking two. How am I supposed to tell a two-year-old he's suffering psychic seeing-the-future crap because some jerk demon wants him to be Lord of the Douchewads' meatsuit? How am I supposed to tell him about demon blood, or that that crap he's seeing happens, or any of this stuff?

"Give him a moment. In time he will calm down and forgive you."

"I don't know, Cas."

Cas smiled, "I have spent a great deal of time with the two of you. The cycle never fails. You care too much about each other for either of you to leave permanently. Trust me, he'll come around."

Dean's phone went off and he dug it out, answering the call and putting it to his ear as he spoke, "Yeah, well, let's hope so. What is it, Sam?"

His stomach dropped on hearing his brother's tone, "Dean, we've got a problem."


	33. Chapter 33: Touched by an Angel

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! **CarverEdlundtheLast** : Great to hear from you! I'm glad that you liked it! I cried a lot of tears over this chapter, so I am quite happy that my weak attempts at humor were appreciated. After all, to Dean, that isn't his car yet, and to Sam, Dad is just some random guy. He isn't really around enouph for Sam to place any real significance on him, and he also might be just a little jealous, given that Dean talks and does things with John, and to Sam, that is his person. "Just him and Dean and that's it" is essentially the way he sees the world at this point. After all, he almost never sees other people at all. **UnknownGirl** : Thanks for reviewing! I promise to post frequently. **CatstielWinchespurr** : Yay! Another of my faithful reviewers has returned! Thank you for commemorating the thirty chapter mark. I can't wait to see where this goes. I have a basic idea, given that I have a timeline on my laptop with all known canon scenes I need to cover, plus some other plots I'm planning to do, as well as some 'current events.' (Berlin Wall, leaking of documents, etc.) Still, there is a lot of space, and I can't wait to write all of it. Thank you so much for your review!

Personal Question: **ncsupnatfan** , are you all right? I miss you.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 33: Touched by an Angel

* * *

Little Dean and Sam wandered through the Wal-Mart, selecting items and dumping them in the cart. Dean rode in the basket, excitedly staring about at everything. Every so often he would climb out of the cart to run and grab something, returning to inquire its use of the man.

"Hey, Sam, what's this?" The childish voice asked yet again.

Sam glanced down in confusion, "Um, a DVD." He turned his attention back to the cans of vegetables, "Get back in the cart. We need to leave soon."

Dean ignored him, "What's a DVD?"

Sam sighed, "That." Honestly, Dean was being even more annoying than usual.

"Yeah, but what's it _do_ _?_ "

Sam looked back at the child, "Uh, it's like a video. Plays movies."

Dean stared at it, brow knitted in confusion, "How could they fit a whole movie on that?" he shook his head, looking back up, "The future's weird."

Sam chuckled, then his smile vanished as he glanced down the aisle, "We've got company."

It was a woman, standing in the path between the food and clothes aisles. At first glance she looked normal. But on second glance, one noticed other things: her suit was oddly cut, with pads in the shoulders, her hair was permed into a large mop, and she was wearing far too much makeup. She looked like she belonged in an eighties movie, and she was staring straight at them, with an intensity Sam had only ever seen on an angel.

Dean stared, speaking quietly, "What do we do?"

"Run." He grabbed up the child, walking quickly until they were out of the aisle, then he broke into a sprint.

In the background _Everybody Wants You_ by Billy Squier came on the speaker system.

* * *

Sam didn't stop until he burst through several "employees only" doors and ran into a store room. Setting the child down, he rushed to close and lock the door. Then, grabbing a file cabinet, he pushed it to form a barricade.

Dean watched him worriedly, "Will that keep her out?"

Sam turned to look at the boy, chest heaving slightly, "Not for long. Might slow her down though."

Feeling his pockets, the man breathed out a curse, "Damn."

"What's wrong?"

He sighed, "I left the angel blade in the car."

Dean was confused, "Angel… is that what she is?"

"Yeah. Sorry." He went back to searching the room, for what Dean wasn't sure.

Dean thought over this new information. Angels. The people hunting him were angels, "But…Mommy said-"

Sam looked up, clearly annoyed, "She was wrong, okay?" He calmed, "Not her fault, she'd been out awhile."

Dean didn't know how much more information he could take, "Out of what?"

Sam looked like he had said something he hadn't meant to, "Nothing." He turned back to his work.

Dean walked after him, "No. What's going on, Sammy? You've both been lying to me ever since I got here. Now what's the deal? Why are there angels after me?"

Sam was silent.

Dean's face fell, "It's that burden, Isn't it? The one Michael talked about. What is it?" No response. Dean grabbed his arm, 'forcing' him to turn and face him. "What is it, Sam?"

Sam couldn't meet his eyes, "It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter? What the hell are you talking about? It's my life, of course it matters! You're scaring me, Sammy. What is this?"

Sam started patting down his pockets again as Dean spoke, "Look, we're trying to protect-" He paused, slipping his hand in one of his jacket pockets and withdrawing a small flask, "-You." A light seemed to leap into his eyes, and he rushed over near the far wall, pouring some substance in a circle on the ground. He stopped, rescrewing it and calling to the boy, "Hey. Dean, come here."

The child hesitantly walked over and the big man knelt down, hugging him tightly before pulling away and giving him the flask, "You keep this safe, you hear me? I don't want to see a mark on it when this is over." He had been smiling during that speech, telling Dean the real message, that he was to keep himself alive, no matter what. The flask didn't matter at all. Instead the boy drew himself ramrod straight, uttering a, "Yes, sir."

Suddenly realizing his mistake, Sam opened his mouth to correct it.

Then the door blasted open.

* * *

Sam stood up, "Dean, get in the circle."

Staring at the woman in the doorway in fright, the boy did as he was told, then yelped a little in surprise as the man dropped a match on the ground, igniting a ring of flames around him.

"Do not leave that circle." Sam ordered. Dean only nodded, gaping at the fire surrounding him. Sam spoke again, this time to the angel, "So, uh, what's your name then?"

"Well, that is impressive. Holy oil." She sighed, "My name is Ezekiel, if it matters."

The man smiled thinly, "Ezekiel. So, I finally get to meet you in person."

The angel cocked its head, in a manner that reminded Sam of Cas, "At what point…? It doesn't matter. This future does not exist." She twitched one hand, sending Sam flying across the room into a wall, where he slumped down, unconscious.

Dean stared in horror, "NO!"

She held out a hand, "It's all right, Dean. You need to come with me."

Dean trembled, tears rolling down his face, "You hurt Sammy."

"Your brother is well. That," Ezekiel nodded toward the unconscious form, "Is irrelevant. As soon as we leave this future will cease to exist. You will tell me where the child is, and we shall retrieve him, then you will both be safe in heaven's protection."

"But-"

"God has called you to a glorious purpose."

"I just want Sammy to be okay."

"He will be. You can protect him. All you have to do is step out of the flame."

Dean was very frightened now, and very confused, and he just wanted it all to be over. He looked over at Sam. Sam cared about him. Sam had told him to stay inside the circle. This angel wanted him to leave with it and had hurt this version of his brother. "No." He said, his voice quavering.

Ezekiel cocked her head again, "What do you mean?"

"I mean 'no.'" His voice came out a little braver this time.

Her eyes narrowed curiously, "I wonder, how long can you stay in your cage? How long can you hide in this room? There is only one way this can end, Dean, and you will have to come out eventually. And when you do, I will be waiting."

"Yeah, we'll see."

* * *

With the angel's disappearance Dean's legs turned to jelly and he started to sob, adrenaline pouring out of him. He drew in a shaky breath, peering at Sam from his curled position on the floor. "Sammy?" As no response came he started to panic. "Sammy?" He said a little louder. To his increased terror the man lay where he was, unresponsive.

Throwing caution aside, Dean raised himself to his feet, running through the flames before collapsing once more and crawling shakily to the adult. Tears were flowing freely down his face as he began to shake him, "Come on Sammy, wake up! Please! Sammy! What am I gonna do? Please." He gave up, rocking back on his knees and crying vocally like a distraught child.

An idea coming into his head, he started to search Sam's pockets. Maybe there would be something in there he could use. He stared curiously as he pulled out a thin piece of metal, glass and dark plastic. What could this be? He turned it over in his hands, trying to discern its use. Finally he spotted some writing on the back, "I-Pho-ne," he sounded out, then stared at it in wonder. This was a phone in the future? How could such things exist?

Deciding that was a question for another time, he began searching for the buttons to dial. Pressing the only one he could find, he nearly dropped the strange device as it lit up, words with some sort of scenery in the background. "Slide… to… un…lock." Accordingly he did as the thing instructed him, to come to a screen of numbers, with no clue which ones to press. Who could he call? How, without knowing the relevant numbers? He hadn't found anything remotely resembling an address book on Sam. Forcing himself to stop sniveling, he randomly started punching in a number, only to be cut off after only four digits. He stared at it, confused. What was wrong with this phone? And a more sobering question, with the angel's parting words echoing through his head, what was he going to do if he couldn't work it?


	34. Chapter 34: The Great Escape: Part 1

A/N: Hello everyone! Where have you all gone? I miss you guys. **MaraDixon413** : Yeah… Poor Dean didn't get any further than the passcode screen, poor baby. 3 You have to admit, though, he's doing pretty well for a six-year-old from the eighties. Of course, Dean always was completely unadulteratedly awesome, so…

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 34: The Great Escape: Part 1

* * *

"John, will you leave off staring at them damn woods and get over here?"

That man didn't move from his position: standing at the edge of camp, just inside the salt line, staring into blackness.

"You know, if you're hoping to get a glimpse of that ghost, you're not gonna make her appear by staring at trees."

John sucked in a breath, "I can try."

Bobby shifted, trying to get a better look at the book in the flickering firelight, "Yeah, well, okay, but if you ever want to stop looking like you got dumped on prom night and actually do some work, I could sure use some help figuring out what this thing is."

John sighed, turning to walk back to the main camp. "Yeah, sure. Sorry, Bobby."

"Okay. Now, what do we know about this thing?"

"Um, it has a lot of power; it can control weather phenomena."

Bobby scratched a note on an extra sheet of paper and nodded, "Yeah, good… anything else?"

"It can-" John's voice threatened to break and he cleared his throat, "It can control spirits."

Bobby paused, "Or something resembling spirits. All you've heard is a voice, and I ain't seen nothing."

John looked down, "Right. Yeah."

Bobby scratched at his head, "Well, it ain't much. Let's see what we can cross off though."

Neither of the men noticed an invisible form, watching them from the shadows.

* * *

The vessel glared at the archangel, "I'm done. You need to leave."

Gabriel stared at him, "You wanna break up?"

Felix sighed, "Be serious, please. Look you said it would just be that one thing. Tell the girl she's pregnant, we're done."

"And we did. What's the problem?"

"IT'S BEEN TWO THOUSAND YEARS!"

"Weell… stuff came up. You know how it is. Anyway, I thought you hated being in the army. Thought you wanted to leave."

"To go _home_ , to Rome. To get out of that filthy, rebellious pit called Judea. Not to play around, eat candy and hurt good people!"

Felix rolled his eyes as Gabriel continued talking, "Come on, Felix! It's not that bad!"

"Yes it is."

"Look. I can't leave you even if I wanted to."

"Why the hell not?!"

"It's been two thousand years. There's been too much damage. I'm the only thing keeping you alive."

That angered Felix further, "You said, when I agreed to this, you PROMISED you would clean me up when you were done. You PROMISED. Besides, you said that we were special, that I was your 'soulmate vessel', or whatever. It wouldn't hurt me."

"True vessel, and yeah, it doesn't hurt you as much. You, unlike any other vessel I might take, can hold me indefinitely. No risk of you burning out or exploding. But even so, there is damage. My power has limits, I can only heal so much. And after two thousand years, our souls are too bound together to extricate without it being fatal to at least one of us, even if I could fully heal everything."

Felix stared at him, "Fine."

"What?"

"Fine. Go away, I want to be alone."

"Sure."

A moment later Felix could feel himself once more alone, "Idiot."

* * *

Sam slowly became aware of a distinct pounding in his head. Scrunching up his face, he slowly forced his eyes open and slid his head over to study the room. A crying little boy met his eyes, curled on the ground, weeping his heart out, Sam's phone abandoned on the floor nearby. He reached out a hand weakly, "Dean."

The child sidled from his position, rapidly making his way to cling to Sam's torso, still crying, his body racked with sobs, while Sam ran a hand through his hair and shushed him soothingly.

"I thought- I thought you were gone."

"Shhh. It's okay."

"L- Like Mommy, and- and now Daddy and Uncle Bobby, and- and…"

"Shhh. Shhh. I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay." He started to shift, and Dean moved to awkwardly remove himself. Sam stopped him, "No. You're fine. Stay there. I'm just gonna get my phone." Dean wiped at his tearstained face as Sam moved, sniffing and starting to talk, "I didn't tell her anything." Sam noted with relief that the circle of holy oil was still burning.

"That's good, Dean."

The child held himself a little more confidently, "She wanted me to go with her, but I told her to go to hell."

He grabbed the phone and slipped back to his previous position, groaning as a stabbing pain went through his head. Yeah, he definitely had a concussion.

"Did you hear me?"

He looked up, "Yeah, yeah I did. Good job, Dean."

Dean still seemed slightly unsure, "So… are you proud of me?"

Sam stared at him for a second. "Come here." Dean bounded over to his previous position, and Sam continued talking, "Course I'm proud of you. You are the most amazing person that I've ever known. What you did today, facing down that angel, I wouldn't've asked anyone to do that, and at your age… but you pulled through, and you handled it, and here you are, fine."

He hung his head, "I cried after though."

Sam scrunched up his forehead, "So?"

"Dad said I wasn't supposed to cry."

A smile graced the man's lips and he laughed, "Let me tell you a secret about Dad. He cries just as much as you do."

The green eyes went wide with disbelief, "He does?"

"Sure. So does Bobby, and me, and just about anybody else. It's normal, Dean, especially after something really scary like this. So, you stay here, and you cry just as much as you want to."

He thought for a second, "But I don't want to anymore."

"Then don't." They lay for a moment, the child draped across the man, small arms clinging to the well-formed body, blond hair mussed by a calloused hand. A new song came on the intercom, _Follow Me_ by Uncle Kracker.

" _You don't know how you met me/You don't know why_

 _You can't turn around and say goodbye_

 _All you know is when I'm with you/I make you free_

 _And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea_

 _I'm singing_

 _Follow me/Everything is all right_

 _I'll be the one to tuck you in at night_

 _And if you want to leave I can guarantee_

 _You won't find nobody else like me…"_

Dean shifted to look into his brother's eyes, "Sammy, what're we gonna do? 'Zekiel said she'd be back for me."

Sam spoke, "Don't worry about her. I'm going to get us some help." He lifted up the phone, turning it on, unlocking it, and moving to the contacts list with a few deft touches. Dean watched with fascination as he clicked on a name and it started to ring.

"How did you do that?"

Sam stared at him distractedly, "That? It's just a phone. It doesn't-" He stopped talking as the ringing stopped. A voice drifted through, "…Yeah, well, let's hope so. What is it, Sam?"

That man nearly sighed with relief, "Dean, we've got a problem."

Silence. Sam assumed his grown brother must have noticed the urgency of his tone, "Care to elaborate?"

"An angel. It must've tracked the kids from- what year are you from?"

Little Dean looked down in concentration, "Um… 1985."

"-1985 and gone on the attack once it saw an opening."

"So gank it!"

"It's not that simple, Dean! I kinda-" He sighed, "I left the angel blade in the car."

"Get it out of the car!" He heard the phone forcibly being passed, then Cas's voice came over the line, "Sam, under absolutely no circumstances are you to kill that angel, do you understand me?"

"Yeah Cas."

"The consequences to the timeline could be disastrous. Remember what happened with Henry. The ripple effect of his death in the future and disappearance in the past altered the manner of your interactions with him and changed the entire timeline."

"Cas, she said her name was Ezekiel."

A voice came from the background, and Sam guessed that he was on speaker, "Like Ezekiel? Burn-Keven's-eyes-out-while-possessing-you Ezekiel? Why are we not shanking this guy again?"

Cas spoke, his voice tight, "That was Gadreel, Dean, not Ezekiel, and there was reason he took that alias. Sam, I know Ezekiel well. He was one of my best, and most trusted friends. I am begging you, please don't kill him. He is a good and honorable soldier. He can be reasoned with. I assure you, he is only following orders, he thinks that he is doing the right thing."

Adult Dean scoffed in the background, "Oh yeah, let's just make friends with the guy who is trying to start the end of the world."

That seemed to anger the angel, "Dean, do you honestly think Ezekiel is the only one looking for those children? We have been extraordinarily fortunate thus far, this angel is perhaps the best scenario we have to hope for here. Anything else could be far worse."

Sam could almost hear the sarcastically confused look on Dean's face, "Far worse like what?"

"Far worse like me. For example." Everyone was quiet, digesting this new information.

The child looked up at Sam, whispering fearfully, "Is Cas an angel?"

This was getting them nowhere. Whatever Cas was talking about needed to wait. Sam thought for a second, "What if- what if we found a way to send him back to his own time? Some way that he couldn't cause trouble?"

Cas's tone was dismissing, "He would tell others, probably return with backup."

"Yeah but… You said he could be reasoned with. If we could talk to him, maybe explain the situation…"

"Who could talk to him, Sam? He is unlikely to listen to his target and he certainly won't listen to you."

Sam smiled sardonically, "Yeah, I kinda tried and he slammed me into a wall."

Older Dean spoke, "What about you, Cas? You said he trusts you…"

"We do not want me involved. If the direction I take, my attachment to the humans in my charge is discovered in the past… they would kill me, or worse. I am one angel in the garrison, I am not irreplaceable. I believe you two, of all people, can appreciate the seriousness with which Heaven considers disobedience."

Sam spoke, "Well then what can we do? Sorry, but no one's really offered any options here."

Little Dean broke in, an odd look on his face, "Cas, that symbol that brought me here… is there some way we could reverse it?"

Cas's tone softened, "Forgive me, Dean, but we do not really know the situation Michael rescued you from. Throwing you back in the middle of it-"

"Not for me, for 'Zekiel. Could we send him back?"

There was a pause, "Yes, I believe so."

"Okay. Sammy can put it around the room. I'll talk to 'Zekiel, and if it doesn't work, Sammy can send him back."

His older self spoke, "Dean, we don't know that that's a good idea. He might just come back with backup."

"Yeah, but, all we really need is time. We don't know what Michael's doing, and if we send 'Zekiel back, at the least he has to get the backup and find a way back here. That could buy us enouph time to get back to the bunker."

Sam looked at him, "Where'd you come up with that one?"

Older Dean's voice came over the phone, "Motel cable action movies. That's brilliant, Dean. We'll poke around, text you guys the symbol when we find it."

Sam spoke, "Yeah, sounds good."

* * *

A/N: Anyone have any opinions on Felix?


	35. Chapter 35: The Great Escape: Part 2

A/N: I just wanted to do a little write up and explanation on Felix. He was meant to serve a fairly specific purpose and I feel I have not done him justice in my writing. I have, from the beginning, been fascinated by the idea of a vessel. Here is a person, trapped, with no control over their own body, stuck with another individual for however long they are occupied. I have toyed with the idea of this unique perspective before in this fic, with writing Sam's perspective on the scene in Swan Song, and I have considered writing a Sam POV for the Lucifer scene in The End (One-shot. Different fic). Felix is a play on that same theme. It occurred to me that Gabriel has had the same vessel for an incredibly long time, and given that, that we know of, he has never been killed, the body's original owner is logically alive and well. Having been that close to someone, literally riding in the same skin, for that long, would obviously result in an interesting relationship. If we throw into the mix that Gabriel is not particularly easy to get along with, he hasn't exactly been flying around saving the world like Cas does, and that Felix is relatively serious, I thought it could be interesting. I was aiming for something approaching a close friends/old married couple type dynamic. I am fairly certain that I failed. I apologize.

On to the regular author's note!

Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. **CarverEdlundtheLast** : Glad you enjoyed! I'm so glad you like the songs. I put a lot of work into them, and just knowing that it improves even one person's experience of the fic… it means a lot. Thank you. **Emma Winchester 424** : Always wonderful to meet a new reader! I'm glad that you've enjoyed so far, and hope that you stay with me for the rest of the ride. I love you, and thanks for reviewing!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 35: The Great Escape: Part 2

* * *

Dean pretended to read his lore book, stealing glances at Cas when the angel's back was turned. Finally he sighed, flipping the book closed and swinging his legs off the library table, "Cas, is there something I should know?"

The other man didn't look at him, continuing to peruse the shelves, "What do you mean, Dean?"  
Dean looked at the floor, worrying his upper lip as he thought, "I mean the way you've been acting ever since this whole thing started. The way you've been walking on eggshells and looking like you killed a puppy any time one of the kids walk in the room. That whole speech to Dean about how you'd failed us, how this is your fault."

Cas glanced at him briefly, "I- I have failed you, and betrayed you, on multiple occasions." He looked back at the bookshelf as he continued speaking, "I am certain you can name several at this moment."

Dean stood up, pacing the room to stand near the angel, "Come on, Cas. 'Far worse like me, for example'? You weren't talking about feeling guilty for crap that happened a few years ago. Now what's going on?"

Cas looked down, not meeting Dean's gaze, "This is my fault, all of it."

"How could this possibly be…" He stopped, stayed by the expression on Cas's face. His voice turned worried, "Cas?"

The angel didn't look up, "Do you remember Anna? Her attack on your parents?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"The Michael from your time cleaned up the incident well, erased your parent's memories, eliminated all signs of angelic interference. No one in heaven could determine who or what had perpetrated the attack. However, it brought to their attention the fact that they were not the only ones with an interest in your family. There were other things -other forces- that would be only too glad to monopolize that advantage. You had to be protected. So, they assigned a guard."

"Who…" Realization came over Dean's face. "Cas, how long have you been watching us?"

"Since, maybe, a month after the attack? Possibly less."

Dean was silent. He wasn't sure how he felt about this revelation, the idea that Cas had been involved in his life since before he was born. It also brought up another disturbing thought, "1979? You were assigned in 1979?" There was a pause. "Were you there then? That night? When Yellow Eyes showed up?"

Cas's eyes were apologetic, "I'm sorry, Dean. My orders forbade me to interfere. I was to watch, hidden, and report all developments to my commander. I didn't mean-" He sighed, "I should have ignored my orders. I should have stopped it. I should have-"

Dean held up a hand, "Forget it. It's been over thirty years, Cas. Thirty years of grade A crap. It's okay. I'm too tired to care. I don't have a lot of people left, and you're one of them, so, I really couldn't give a damn about your orders." He smiled slightly, "'Sides, have you met you back then? No offense, but you were kind of a dick." He chuckled a little, a dry, tired chuckle.

Cas watched him sadly. The man was trying to change the subject, ignore the issue until he could drink it away like everything else, and a part of Cas wanted him to succeed. However he wasn't finished, "There's more, Dean."

Dean obviously really wanted to drop it. "Cas, I don't-"

"You asked why I blame myself for this. I am going to tell you. This shouldn't have happened. It's my fault. If it wasn't for me they would have been protected anyway and Michael never would have felt the need to send them to you for protection."

"What are you talking about?"

The angel sighed, "I was assigned to watch over you, and your brother. His dreams. I… interfered in one."

Dean looked confused, "So you helped him."

"No. I thought I was helping him. He was in a great deal of distress, and I entered the dream to aid him. He was- it was of Armageddon. Lucifer was inside him, beating you, in the minutes before Sam took back control. It was perhaps the worst memory he has outside of the Cage."

"You got him out of it. Thanks."

"It's not that simple. Anna found me retuning to my post. It was disobedience, Dean. She could have had me killed. Instead she banished me to Heaven. Because of me, you were both left unguarded."

Dean paused, "Cas… look, whatever happened, it's fine, okay? You can't keep beating yourself up over this stuff. I mean, come on, if I held onto all the stuff like that I've done, I don't think I'd be able to function. Come on, let's just… let's find this damn symbol, then we can deal with whatever other crap comes up."

"All right."

Cas watched him walk off toward the kitchen, most likely to find some alcohol. That was his usual recourse when he gained some new knowledge he hadn't wanted. The angel was worried about the repercussions of what had been said. Dean may have dropped it for now, but Cas knew him too well to believe he was as unaffected as he claimed. Most likely the man would sit and think about it, letting it fester until it came out in some unhealthy display of his emotions. It was the usual cycle, and Cas was used to it. What worried him was the thinking that would be done in the meantime. Could Dean actually forgive this? Their friendship had survived so much strain, Cas couldn't help but wonder with each new problem what would be the breaking point. What if this was it?

* * *

1985

The dark-suited figure stood in the center of the old warehouse, checking his watch. He had been waiting thirty minutes, the lack of respect demonstrated by this forced follower of his really was most infuriating. The King of the Crossroads stood, chafing at the delay, until he finally heard the door open behind him. He spoke, "Well?"

The demon that had just entered lazily strolled across the room, smiling, before taking a seat on some boxes, "Nice to see you too. Hmm, see you kept your vessel. Any particular reason?"

Crowley sighed. The small talk was getting ridiculous, "I'm sentimental. Now, you requested this bloody meeting, presumably you had a reason."

A comically wounded look came over its face, "You're really rude, you know that? Quite a son of a bitch."

"Yes, she was rather. Now enouph chat, what do you want?"

It grinned, "Well, to get right down to it, I know how to kill a Knight."

Crowley's eyebrows went up, "Really?"

"Yeah. It wasn't easy to dig up. I'll expect something good for this."

"We already discussed your payment. You're doing a favor for me in return for Alastair and Azazal staying in the dark about you. Don't worry though, you fulfill your end of the bargain and they never have to hear a thing. Promise."

It paused, "What's to stop me just going to them with your little plan? You're the only one that knows about me."

Crowley smiled innocently, "What plan? Kill Abaddon if she shows her murderous face? Please. I don't have followers or a faction, I'm not a threat. I bring in revenue, lots of it. I'm useful. What do the big bosses care if I have a hobby? You've got nothing on me, mate."

It sighed, leaning forward, "Okay, fine. You need a special weapon. There's only one thing that can kill a Knight of Hell. The First Blade."

Crowley was incredulous, "The First Blade. You mean bloody Cain."

It nodded, "Yeah."

Crowley sighed, "Bollocks." That was unfortunate. Cain was the last person he wanted to go near, not that anyone in hell knew where he was. Still… It couldn't hurt to know how to find him, just in case. Besides, maybe he didn't have the blade anymore. The demon scoffed. Yeah, right, like he'd be that lucky. More likely he'd show up to meet the man and get stabbed. It had been a long time since anyone had heard anything about him, Cain had gone completely off the radar. The Mark had to be hungry by now, and Cain did not have a good track record with demons. He spoke, "Okay, next, I need to know how to find the bloody thing. There's a woman, widow of one of the Men of Letters. She might know something. I want you to talk to her."

"Doesn't sound too hard. How do I find her?"

"She lives in Illinois. Town called Normal. Name's Millie Winchester."

The creature looked confused, "Winchester? Like the gun?"

Idiot. "Yeah. Like the gun."

* * *

Sam snatched his phone as it went off, answering on the first ring, "Dean. You're on speaker"

"Hey. Okay, so we found the symbol. I'll text it to you in a second. You want to put it on the wall, doesn't matter where."

"Wall. Got it."

"Good. It's a blood sigil. You know, like an angel banishing sigil or something. Gotta be done in the casters blood. Same drill: draw it, then touch to activate."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

He hung up, leaving Sam and the child staring at each other in silence. Dean spoke, "Where do you want me?"

"Uh…" He walked over, picking him up and lifting him over the flames to stand in the middle of the circle, "Stay there." Sam's phone made a small noise, and Sam glanced at it to see a texted picture of the symbol.

He walked across the room, taking out a knife and slicing a shallow cut in his arm. He slicked his fingers with blood from it, then started to paint the wall, drawing three sigils in various locations, with the hope that this would ensure his being near one of them if it was needed.

He glanced at Dean, noticing his worried and pained expression, "Uh, it's okay. This doesn't hurt me all that much; I'm used to it."

Dean didn't look away, "But this isn't how it's supposed to be." He protested.

Sam looked confused, "What?"

"You're not supposed to have to do this stuff. Dad does it, and I will do it, but you're not supposed to." His voice dropped to almost a whisper, "You're supposed to be a kid… You're supposed to be happy."

"I- I am. I mean, sure hunting sucks sometimes, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy."

Dean stopped talking, but he still looked like he wanted to cry and Sam rather doubted that he had actually convinced him of anything.

A few lightbulbs broke and Sam rushed for one wall, "Okay, here we go. Get ready."

Dean held his breath as the door blew open.

* * *

Ezekiel walked in, the door closing behind him with a wave of his hand. He spoke, "Hello, Dean. Have you thought about what I said? Are you ready to end this foolishness?"

Dean froze. He knew what he wanted, but speaking with this angel terrified him and his vocal cords seemed almost paralyzed. Finally he forced himself to speak, "I have, and the answer's still no."

The angel cocked his head, "Really?"

"Yeah. Now leave me and my brother alone. I don't ever want to see you again."

It sighed, as though reasoning with an unreasonable child, "Dean. What I am asking you to do is for your own good."

"I don't really care. Look, 'Zeke, I know you think you're doing the right thing, but you're not. You have no idea what's really going on here."

"Very well, what is going on? Please, tell me this great scheme." His voice was vaguely mocking.

"Uh…" Dean trailed off. He suddenly realized that he didn't actually know the answer to that question.

"You see, child, you do not understand the situation. I do. Let me explain: There is a war being fought in the shadows, a conflict of good against evil, and you have the potential to play a part in that war. Your brother does as well. We do not wish the war to reach the point in which that potential could be used, but there are creatures, demons, that would wish to hurt you and use you for their purposes. To keep them from hurting you and Sam, I have come to get you and take you to a place where you can be protected. You want Sam to be protected, don't you?"

Sam broke in, "Yeah, and who told you all this? Who told you to come here and kidnap kids?"

Ezekiel barely glanced at him, "Heaven."

Sam spoke sarcastically, "Oh and heaven's always right?"

"Yes, actually."

"How do you know?"

The angel seemed to be getting annoyed, "Because they are. My orders come from God. He is infallible."

"Oh, you've talked personally with God. Sorry, my mistake."

It sighed, "No, but my commanders do. They give me my orders. It is my duty to obey."

Sam scoffed, "Right, yeah, 'cause no way any of them have their own agenda."

That seemed to be Ezekiel's breaking point. He threw out a hand. A second later Sam found himself pinned to the wall, well away from any of the sigils.

The angel walked toward him, "The boy with the demon blood. You are making yourself quite irritating."

Sam smiled, "Been a long time since anyone called me that."

She cocked her head, "What then? Who are you now, human child?"

"I'm Sam freaking Winchester."

Ezekiel almost looked sad, "No, you're not. You've been ripped to pieces. You are so far from being that person, looking at you… your soul… it's unrecognizable. What are you?" Dean stared at his brother. What was Ezekiel talking about?

Sam appeared equally confused, "How would you know what my soul looks like?"

"I have seen you before. A friend of mine was assigned to guard you both, and I kept him company on occasion."

Sam nodded, "What friend?"

"An angel. Castiel."

Sam was genuinely surprised, "Castiel?"

"Yes. An honorable soldier."

Dean watched the exchange in fascinated fear, then, realizing the angel was distracted, he started to plan, staring at the symbols drawn of the walls, memorizing them.

Ezekiel continued to talk, "He thinks very highly of your kind, perhaps higher than you deserve."

Sam spoke, "No, no, wait… how long has this Castiel been stalking us?"

"Guarding. And he was taken off the case. I don't know why, it was all very quiet. First his commander sent him back, then the mission was discontinued, and now they have ordered the protective seizure of these children."

"Exactly! Don't you wonder what's going on? Why they can't seem to make up their minds?"

"No. I have received an order, it is not my place to question God's reasoning. It is my place to obey the instructions I am given."

"Buddy, God isn't even giving the orders up there."

Ezekiel sputtered and looked shocked, "That is blasphemy. I should smite you where you stand for even suggest-"

"Hey! Bitch!" Two gunshots rang out. Ezekiel turned, to see Dean standing, a revolver held out in front of him, two holes in the back of the angel's suit. "Leave my brother alone!"

"Interesting. I can see what Castiel sees in you. You are indeed as brave as he says. However," He began to walk toward the child, now a couple of feet outside of the circle, "You are also very foolish." He paused, noticing a drop of red falling from the boy's fingers. "What did you-" his gaze traveled up, landing on the sigil drawn on the wall behind Dean.

Dean stared down the approaching angel, "Hasta la Vista, Baby." He slammed his bloodied hand into the middle of the symbol. Light radiated out, reaching a blinding intensity, before dying away. Dean collapsed to the floor. The angel gone, Sam dropped from the wall, hurrying to his brother's side. He sighed heavily, "Dean, you idiot."

In his eagerness and lack of knowledge and experience, Dean had used a pocketknife to slit one wrist for the blood needed. The angel threat may have been gone, but the child now lay on the floor, unconscious from blood loss. Sam hurriedly bound the limb tightly, then gathered the boy into his arms and rushed from the room. He had to get Dean back.


	36. Chapter 36: A Fight for Love and Glory

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading. I know, this time travel plotline has lasted a lot more chapters then I planned, but I promise we are nearing the end, and will get back to regular plot soon.

By the way, Millie Winchester, mentioned by Crowley in the last chapter, is Henry Winchester's wife. She was, based on my math, twenty-six when he disappeared, making her fifty-three in 1985.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 36: A Fight for Love and Glory

* * *

August 12, 1958

Normal, Illinois

The dark-haired young woman smiled as she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist. She took her arms out of the soapy water, reaching up to caress the cheek of the man behind her, "Mmmm," She breathed. "How's John?"

"Asleep," he replied, "Or pretending to be."

"You wind up his box?"

"Of course."

He leaned down to kiss her neck and she pulled away, slapping at him playfully, "Stop it, Henry. You'll get your suit all wet." She stopped a couple of feet away, eyeing him critically, "Shouldn't you be wearing something a little nicer? It is your big day after all." She paused, "The ' **Initiation**.'" Her voice went mockingly deeper and her eyes went comically wide on the word. The humored grin remained intact as she stepped forward and straightened his tie.

He smiled back at her, then sighed, "Oh, Millie. I wish you could be there." She favored him with a grin and then walked off, continuing to busy herself around the kitchen as he spoke, grumbling slightly, "I still don't see why you can't. You're a legacy too. And a hell of a lot more talented than me."

She didn't bother looking back at him, "We've discussed this. Girls can't be legacies."

"Josie is." Henry muttered, continuing to fiddle with the cuff of his overcoat.

Millie spared him a glance, smiling, "Yeah, well, maybe she'll help change things. In the meantime, I'm not, so I can't be involved in meetings." She walked back toward him, "Besides, it's an initiation. Legacies can't go anyway, only full members… so." She stopped, looking him up and down, "At least wear a different hat." She grabbed one, returning to snatch the original off his head and replace it. As she did so he caught her lips in a kiss. She froze, surprised for a second, than wrapped her arms around his neck, continuing and deepening it. Finally she broke away, smoothing out his coat collar, "You nervous?"

He grinned, laughing a little, "Yeah." She laughed with him, "Don't be. My dad told me about his. Said it was a slam-dunk. Easy. The rest was just old guys making speeches."

Henry raised an eyebrow, "Your dad was one the Men's best demon experts."

"Wasn't an expert when he started. You'll do fine. You'll see."

He stared at her lovingly, "What would I do without you?"

She smiled, "I don't know. Now get out of here. You're going to be late."

"Right," He gave her a peck on the lips, "Love you."

"Love you too. Now get going."

She sighed as she turned back to the sink full of dishes, not bothering to watch as he took the last steps and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Some time later she was on her knees behind a chair, scrubbing at a newly discovered piece of pencil artwork, courtesy of John, radio music playing softly in the background. Hopefully the four-year-old was asleep, and she didn't want to wake him up if she could help it. _Listen to Me_ by Buddy Holly was playing, a little less up tempo than his stuff she generally liked, but it was a good song and she found herself humming snatches as she worked.

She stood to get some fresh washcloths, sighing in frustration as she looked at the unchanged drawing. She idly wondered if toddlers were some form of supernatural monster, if somewhere deep in the Men of Letters' underground library sat a dusty tome cataloguing their ways. She paused, pushing her hair back away from her face with the back one hand. The stupid things that go through one's mind sometimes…

A faint crackling attracted her attention, and she turned off the radio, following the noise to its source. The police scanner. She sighed, smiling and shaking her head as she moved to turn it off. It was part of Henry's work, a low level job normally dumped on some young legacy who couldn't object too strongly to being given busywork. Normally he turned it off when he wasn't home, but sometimes he could be absent-minded, especially when he was nervous about something.

Her hand froze on the switch as a voice crackled through. "…All available vehicles please attend. Repeat. We have a fire. Address: 242 Gains street…"

Her heart stopped. 242 Gains street. The Men of Letters' office.

Instantly she turned and ran out of the house, barely pausing to shut the door behind her as she ran down the street. No. No, this couldn't be happening. There had to be some mistake, some error in the emergency message. _Please God, no_. She prayed.

* * *

Her eyes went wide as she approached the area, and she slowed, barely able to comprehend what was around her. Fire trucks and police cars were everywhere, smoke and flames shot out the open door of the office as hoses shot water into the blazing inferno. A policeman stopped her as she kept walking, "Ma'am I'm sorry, you can't go any closer."

She barely looked at him, her gaze fixed on the building, "No, you don't understand. My husband's in there. I have to help him." She could barely think rationally anymore, all her sanity was being eaten up and burned away by the horrible sight in front of her, "I have to get to him." Desperate, she tried to push past him.

"Ma'am. MA'AM."

She started to struggle with him, "I have to get in there! You can't stop me!" She slowly became aware of other officers converging on her position, "No. NO! HENRY! NO! NO!" Increasingly she was screaming words rather than speaking them, fighting desperately with the officers attempting to restrain her, her only thought to find a way to get inside, "GET OFF ME YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She tried to leap forward, only to be overwhelmed and carried away, "NO! HENRY! Henry…" She repeated his name, finally descending from manic screams to sobs. She stopped struggling, collapsing into the arms of one of the officers and allowing him to lead her away. He sat down with her on the curb, put his jacket around her shoulders and held her as she cried.

Finally she was just sitting and sobbing, all her tears spent. The officer pulled her away from him to look into her face, "You okay, ma'am? Where do you live? Do you want me to take you home?"

She sniffed, running a hand across her face to clear away some tears, "No. I'll walk. It's not far. I'll- I'll be alright."

"Are you sure? It's no trouble."

She gave him a quick smile, "No. No really, I'm fine." She stood, slipping off the coat and handing it back to the man, who took it with a concerned expression that she barely noticed. Then she walked away, silent.

* * *

Millie didn't know how she got back to the house. She sat at the kitchen table, frozen, unable to do anything. None of it felt real. Henry was dead, who knew how many others. She fingered the pendant hanging from her necklace, a gold cutout of the Aquarian Star her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She had lost him, in the line of duty, shortly after she got married. He had never even gotten to meet John, and now Henry was gone. How many did she have to lose? Why did this have to happen? Henry was dead. Her brain kept looping through the same cycles, odd thoughts of chores that needed to be done and other casual things, coming back to that sentence at random points like a demented broken record. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't any more. Her eyes didn't have any more tears to give. Why was this happening?

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She considered ignoring it. She didn't feel like she could move, let alone carry on a conversation. The knock came again, more urgent this time and she sighed, heaving herself up from the table and walking heavily to the door.

Millie opened it and spoke, her voice flat and tired, "Yeah?" She froze in horror.

Larry Ganem stood on her porch, blood coating his face and his mouth open as he swayed slightly. He reached out a hand, "Millie? Millie is that you?" He felt around, his fingers finally landing on her hair. He ran his hand up her shoulder-length cut to the top of her head, tracing the clip holding the hair back from her face, then moving back down, feeling the curled-under bottom of her hair and running along the shoulder of her grey sweater. She was too much in shock to reply to his question. The world had become a nightmare and she couldn't seem to wake up. She half-wanted to close the door and run out the back, away from death and carnage and endless horror. Run until she could forget that any of it ever happened.

"It is you, isn't it?" He didn't quite seem to be looking at her, and she suddenly realized the reason for his vacant expression, the reason for the blood. Coming to herself, she stepped out of the doorway, slinging one arm over her shoulders, "Yeah, it- it's me. Come on, let's get you inside."

"Thank you."

She helped him inside to the kitchen table, then gently cleaned the blood off his face and poured him a glass of water, which Larry accepted and drank eagerly.

After doing so, Millie walked towards the phone, "I'm going to get you an ambulance."

His head jerked up out of his hands, "No! No hospitals."

She gestured with the receiver, "Larry, you're hurt."

He shook his head, wincing in pain at the movement, "No. We can't risk it. I'll be okay."

"Please let me help you!"

"The best way that you can help me is by not talking to anyone. It's just my eyes. I'll live."

Millie stared at him for a moment in frustration, then set down the receiver with a sigh and walked back to the table.

She sat in the chair at a right angle to him, staring in a vague sort of horror at this wreck of her friend, "Were you at the meeting?"

He paused, "Yeah."

"What happened? How did the fire start?"

He set down his glass, "That was no fire."

She felt confused, "What then?"

"An attack. A demon was inside Josie. It was… it was horrible. Blood everywhere… bodies… so much blood. She killed… everyone."

"How did you escape?"

He shrugged, raising an eyebrow in a scoffing gesture, "You call this an escape?" He paused, "I think she tried to kill me. I don't know why I'm still alive. Sloppy job on her part, I'm guessing. Fortunately, she only got my eyes. I managed to crawl out before the smoke got to bad."

"So there was a fire."

"Yes. Abaddon started it before she left. Wasn't content with just killing us, I suppose." He looked down at the table, clinched fists resting on its surface, as though he needed to compose himself before going any farther, "Oh God, Millie, it was horrible." Millie reached over, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. She wanted to say something, but she didn't know what. The whole world felt numb. Thinking of an important task, she stood. "We need to call this in. There could be other attacks. We need to let them know what's going on." She walked over to the phone, flipping through the cards beside it and starting to rotate the dial to put in one of the emergency numbers. She shifted her weight impatiently as the phone rang.

And rang. It kept ringing until she gave up, holding down the button on the top to end the call and dial another number.

Nothing. No one answered, just more ringing.

She tried number after number, finally turning to look at the man at the table, the receiver still held in her hand as she came to a horrifying realization, "No one's answering… I don't think we're the first."


	37. Chapter 37: The Truth Will Out

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delayed post. **CarverEdlundtheLast** : I'm so happy to hear that you have been enjoying this plotline. You will be hearing more about Millie, I promise. Her part in this story is by no means done. **ncsupnatfan** : I'm so sorry to hear about your illness! I'm glad to hear from you, I was getting worried. As for your other review, I don't know what Gabriel will do in the long run. He doesn't like to let people know his plans, even me. Poor Cassie is having major issues, and he is likely to continue having issues for the foreseeable future. Why does Dean always lie? WHY? WHY?! *Sinks to the floor in pain*

By the way, I was thinking of writing another prequel fic, starting in the thirties and going through to the fire. It would focus on Henry, Millie, John, Mary, the Men of Letters, Samuel, Deanna, etc. Would anyone be interested?

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 36: The Truth Will Out

* * *

Sam sped down the road toward the bunker, not bothering with the speed limit and every so often taking his eyes off the road to glace concernedly at the child in the passenger seat. Dean was still unconscious, but Sam was fairly certain that he had reached him in time. He pulled out his phone, dialing Dean's number and putting it to his ear.

"Hey." The voice was muffled and Sam guessed his brother was eating.

"I am going to kill you."

The line went dead for a few seconds, "Literally or metaphorically? Zeke didn't give you something did he?" Sam sighed. The fact that that was a perfectly reasonable response said something about their lives. "No. The plan went a little off the rails. Dean cut one of his wrists to make an additional sigil."

Another pause, "Is he okay?"

"I think so. I tied it up to stop the bleeding and I'm on my way to you now."

"Okay, sounds good. You need a transfusion? I can have one ready. After all, we have lots of the right type, nice and fresh, still in the original handsome package. Don't even have to steal it."

"No. He's unconscious, but I think he'll be all right with some rest."

Silence, then, "I'm gonna have one waiting."

"Right. Seriously though, stop giving me heart attacks."

"It's not MY fault the kid's an idiot."

"Yeah it is."

Dean paused, "Okay, maybe it is." Sam could hear his grin through the phone, "Good thing I'm smarter now, huh?"

Sam sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes, "So, uh, how am I? You know… little me."

"Uh… yeah, you're okay. It was a premonition. Cas and I went in, got you out."

Sam wasn't sure he had heard right, "Wait. A premonition?"

"Yeah. Apparently Azazal's demon blood thing took effect sooner than we thought. About twenty-two years sooner."

Sam blinked, "Wow. So, uh, what was the premonition?" Silence from the other end, "Dean?"

Dean sounded like he was in pain, "It was of The Cage, Sammy."

He paused in shock, "The Cage? You mean-"

"Yeah."

"What was going on?"

"Sam…"

"I need to know what he saw. Please."

"Why? It's the Cage, it's all crappy."

"Yeah, well, some parts are crappier than others."

Dean paused, "I didn't really see anything. The main action seemed to be over by the time we got there." Please, please let Sam buy it. Come on…

Sam could tell he was lying. It was always obvious, but normally he found that it was better to let Dean think he was winning. He decided to let it go and find out later. He'd ask Cas. Cas was terrible at keeping secrets. "Yeah, okay. I guess it doesn't really matter. Um, look, I should focus on driving. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Tell me when you get here." Dean hung up.

Sam set down his phone, glancing worriedly at the child in the passenger seat. What did Dean think he was doing? He thought they had agreed, things had to change if they were going to break out of the cycle. Lying to each other was definitely somewhere at the top of the list. He understood, of course. Dean didn't want him to have to think about any of those memories, he was trying to protect him. The problem, of course, being that he didn't want protecting. He needed to know what his younger self had seen. The torture, in and of itself, was horrible enouph, but if Sammy had seen some of the other stuff, the stuff Lucifer had done to mess with his head…

* * *

"What the hell?" John glanced up at the man who had spoken. Bobby's gaze was fixed on a point somewhere behind him, and John turned around in an attempt to see it. Then he jumped up off the log and backed up a few steps as his eyes widened in shock.

"Hello John." Said the apparition, standing in the woods just outside the salt line.

Bobby continued to stare. "Is that-"

"Yes," John said, his voice breaking with longing and need. It was Mary, but not as he would have expected her ghost to appear, slightly child-worn wearing a bloody nightgown with over-pale skin. Rather she looked the way she had the day they met, a pretty teenager in a peasant blouse and jeans, that charm bracelet she always wore clinking on her wrist and a smile gracing her face. John stared at her, drinking in the sight like a dying man in the desert. He didn't know how she could be here, but right now he really didn't care. He started walking toward the edge of the clearing, needing to be closer, to feast his eyes on her, to _touch_ her. He ignored Bobby's warning cry as he walked, stopping just inside the salt line, a couple of feet away from the object of his desire. He stood, barely breathing as they watched each other.

An irritating voice invaded the moment, "John, what the hell do you think you're doing? Get back here before you get your dumb ass killed."

"Will you give me a minute?" He turned his focus back to the woman in front of him, "Mary, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Her smile remained intact, "I know."

"You- What?" He stared at her, the smile that had seemed so kind suddenly gaining a sinister light as she stepped forward, "I know. It is your fault." He started to stumble backwards as she advanced, to his shock walking over the salt line with no apparent difficulty. She was starting to frighten him, and he held out a hand toward her, "Mary-"

"I should have walked out of there! I was supposed to have a life!" A shotgun blast sounded out, useless salt tearing at her shirt, and she threw out a hand, tossing Bobby across the campground and pinning him to a tree. The smile was gone.

John was growing desperate, "Mary, I'm sorry-"

She turned her head to look at him, seemingly furious, "And how does that help me? You can be sorry all day and it doesn't change a thing. I still burn while you run."

"I couldn't- there was no way I could get to you."

That seemed to anger her further. John felt himself lifted up into the air, his back finally colliding with rough bark. "You should have gotten me out! I died screaming. I didn't deserve that!" Her voice dropped back to a normal pitch, "Why did I die instead of you?"

"You're not Mary."

She shook her head, "Does it matter? It's what you think." She laughed slightly, "You hate yourself, John. I know. I can see what's in your mind, and it's a mess up there. It's almost sad looking at you. Well," She shrugged, "At least you won't have to worry about it much longer."

John struggled against the force pinning him to the tree, staring miserably at the thing that looked like his wife.

* * *

Sam pulled into the garage coming back, getting out and rushing around the car to open the passenger door and lift his brother out, studying him as he walked toward the exit. It was strange, he had no memory of Dean at this age, in the earliest of his memories Dean was at least seven or eight, and by that time his mask of snark and macho bravado was already mostly in place. It only slipped on very rare occasions, so it felt oddly bizarre to meet this sweet, venerable, _genuine_ child and think 'Dean.' There were similarities, of course, one of the more worrying ones appearing to be a complete lack of hesitation about shooting someone who was threatening Sam, and he had known those other traits existed, somewhere under the brittle shell, but to _see_ it, to have Dean beg him for affection and approval like he had at the store… he wasn't sure how to react.

The adult version met him as he walked into the children's bedroom, a worried expression on his face that only got worse as he caught sight of the child, "Crap, he looks bad."

Sam laid the boy on the bed, only now noticing the oddly pale tinge of his skin, "Yeah. Uh, you got that blood?"

Dean started to search his pockets, "Yeah, yeah." He pulled out a large syringe full of the dark liquid.

Sam looked at it, his brow furrowing, "Isn't that the syringe we use for curing demons?"

Dean glanced at it, "Uh… yeah, but don't worry, it's sterilized." Sam sighed. Dean continued, "What? You didn't think I was going to put a germy needle in my arm to get blood, did you? Ugh."

Sam stared at him, an extreme bitchface settling over his features, "No."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Dean, that thing has been inside demonized you and Crowley, I'm not putting it in a six-year-old kid! Don't we have an IV or something?"

"No. Sorry, uh, I've been meaning to make a run to the blood bank. Hadn't gotten around to it."

"Great."

Dean stared at him intently, pleadingly, "Look, we gotta do something. Don't I get a say?"

Sam looked back at the small blond figure, lying unconscious on the bed, then back at Dean's pleading face. He sighed, "Fine."


	38. Chapter 38: Heart and Soul

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating, it's the end of the semester and everything's a bit hectic. Thanks for reading. **ncsupnatfan** : Great hearing from you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. As far as 'Mary', I will not give you any answers, but I will remind you that salt did not seem to affect her. Spoilers… **Angeldonut** : Thank you so much for your review! I love hearing from new readers. I'm sorry for the feels, but then, it is Supernatural after all. Please keep reading. Hope to see more reviews from you soon. **Kasey123** : There will be more, I promise. I love you all!

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 38: Heart and Soul

* * *

Sam and Dean sat watching the boy anxiously after putting in the extra blood. Sam spoke, "You think he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." Dean's face was grim, "Man, we dodged a bullet there." He sighed, "Well, I think I'll have a drink now." Sam continued to stare at the child as he left. Dean had seemed to be improving over the past several years, especially since they obtained the bunker. He had seemed happier, drank less, and generally appeared to be slowly healing psychologically. However, between the Mark and everything that had gone with that, the fight to defeat the Darkness, and now this whole thing with the kids, he seemed to have gone into a death spiral, reverting to his old habits of alcoholism and self-destructive silence. He was crashing, Sam could see that, and he didn't have the slightest idea how to help.

Dean walked back in, gulping down beer as he entered. Sam looked at him sadly. He had also been drinking more out of tumblers and mugs before, rather than the bottles that had now been making a reappearance. Sam missed seeing Dean in the mornings, wearing a robe and sipping hot coffee, sometimes even with a smile on his face as he sorted through some uncatalogued material. He hadn't seen that in a while. Sam stared at his brother, growing determined. Maybe he couldn't help with all the guilt Dean was feeling over the perfect storm that was the last few years, but he could help with something, and Dean was going to answer questions, whether he wanted to or not. After all, this didn't just affect Dean.

"Hey, uh, now that the, uh, crisis is averted, would you like to tell me?"

The feigned innocence looked slightly ridiculous, "Tell you about what?"

"What you saw. In my head."

"Come on Sam! We've been over this. Cas and I went in; he woke you up as soon as we got there. Guess he just had to find the right switch or whatever."

Sam paused, choosing his words carefully, "Look, Dean, I thought we weren't going to do this anymore."

Dean moved around the bed, barely looking at Sam in his studious attempt to avoid any and all eye contact, "Do what?"

A younger Sam might have thrown him a bitchface and snapped something snarky. This one just looked sad, "The lying thing. I thought we agreed, this can't happen anymore."

Finally Dean looked at him, a vaguely guilty look on his face and he shook his head slightly as he talked, "I'm not lying! Look, I don't know what you want, Sam. I didn't see anything."

"On the phone, in the car, you said it was mostly over by the time you got there. Dean, if it was the Cage, then it was never over, never. Besides, you just contradicted yourself. Look, I need to know, so I can help you, so I can help me."

"I can deal with it Sam. I'm fine! And how could dredging up any of that possibly-"

"Think of it this way, Dean, how would you feel if I saw you in Hell? Wouldn't you want to know what I saw?"

Dean stared at him, "No!"

"Humor me."

Dean paused, probably considering exactly what to tell him, "Uh… I saw Michael."

He was talking. Dean was talking. This was good. Sam leaned forward slightly, "What was he doing?"

"I don't know. He was in some metal cage thing, had a pretty badly broken wing."

Oh. It was that. Great. Just what he wanted a two-year-old to have to go through. Not that he hadn't gotten hurt by 'Dean' all the time down there. Lucifer knew how much more it hurt when it was someone you loved doling it out. Dean, Dad, Bobby, Jess- anyone that might hurt on an emotional level or make him feel guilt got a crack at him at some point. Sam looked down, remembering, his voice slightly distant, "He stood up for me."

"What?"

"Michael. He stood up for me. Begged Lucifer to leave me alone. It didn't go too well."

"Wait, I thought they both went after you."

Sam didn't bother looking up, "No. Michael never touched me. 'Course, after that he just kind of avoided me, pretended I didn't exist. He'd make a point of not being around when it got bad."

Dean shook his head, "Wow. I knew I hated that son of a bitch for some reason."

"Dean-"

"How can you defend him Sam?! If he did that, if he stood by, and let Lucifer torture you for a year, how the hell-"

"Look I hated him for a long time, Dean. Trust me, I did. But then, I don't know, I guess things changed."

"What things?!"

"You. Look, Lucifer had the Mark, had had it for a long time. He was completely insane, doing whatever it wanted him to. Michael was desperate. I guess I can relate."

Dean looked almost sad, "What are you saying?"

"I've been there, in Michael's shoes. You're sitting there, watching your brother get worse and worse, sliding further into the darkness until you barely even recognize him anymore. It's scary as hell, Dean, and you feel helpless, and you don't know what to do, and you feel like you'll do anything, go through anything to get him back, no matter what."

"You're not Michael, Sam. You're nothing like Michael. You didn't lock me up in a lead freaking box for the rest of eternity. You saved me."

"No, you tried to lock you up in a box, and I broke the world stopping you. Michael just didn't have the option of breaking the world. Look, just, how can I blame Michael for anything he did when I don't know that I would have done any different? What if we had- I don't know- kept Metatron in the dungeon and you just worked him over anytime you or the Mark needed to let off steam? What if that had been our solution? How is that any different?"

"Yeah except, Metatron's a grade A douchebag, and you would never have let that happen."

Sam threw up a hand and shook his head a little, "I don't know, Dean. It crossed my mind as a possibility."

"You dragged me off him."

"Yeah, 'cause you were killing him, and we needed information, not out of any noble desire to save him from you. So, if giving you a prisoner to torture could have helped you, could've given me my brother back for five minutes? Yeah, I think I might have done it. Just left him down there, and made sure I never went in the dungeon. Maybe gone out for groceries when you seemed stressed."

"Sam, it's nothing alike, okay? You are not Metatron."

"From their perspective? Yeah, I think I kinda am."

"Whatever, Sam. Look, I know you, and you couldn't let me do that."

He looked down, unbelieving, "Yeah, okay. Just- just cut Michael some slack, please?"

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but a soft moan from the bed attracted both men's attention. In a flash they were on either side, staring intently at little Dean as he blearily opened his eyes, before sitting up and looking bewilderedly from one to the other, "Wha- What happened?"

The blond man spoke, "Well, you did it. You sent 'Zeke's feathery ass right back home. You're in the bunker now. Good job."

"I didn't know if it would work."

Sam smiled slightly, "Yeah, it worked all right."

Dean spoke again, "What the hell were you thinking? You could've killed yourself."

The boy looked down, his voice small, "I was just trying to help. I'm sorry."

Sam put a hand on his arm, "It's okay, Dean. We're just glad you're okay."

"Yeah. Really glad." Said the other adult sarcastically.

Little Dean looked back up at them, "Can I see Sammy now?"

The older version looked slightly alarmed, "Uh… Sam, can I talk to you?"

"Sure." They walked out, Dean leaning back around the doorframe to point an accusatory finger at the child, "Don't move. Stay in bed. I mean it."

They went a little ways down the hall.

"So, what's going on?" Sam whispered.

"Um… Sammy's kinda, uh…"

"What?"

Dean tried to look casual, bobbing his head a little from side to side as he spoke, "He's kinda missing."

Sam stared at him, "Missing?"

"When he woke up he said he hated me, then ran out of the room. I haven't seen him since."

Sam nodded once, snarkily, "Great."

* * *

1958

Millie and Larry sat at the kitchen table, attempting to digest this new information. Everyone was dead. Everyone. Millie spoke aloud, "It doesn't feel real."

The man nodded, then grimaced as the motion caused pain in his ruined eyes.

"Do you think… anyone…?"

"Maybe some of the families. After all, no one's come after you and John."

"Right." She looked determined and stood up, "We have to get out of here. We can go to Lebanon. The bunker's well enouph warded nothing can get in, right?"

He looked confused, "How do you know about Lebanon? That's pretty high-level stuff."

Millie shrugged, "My Dad told me."

"Of course he did." He paused, forehead wrinkling, "Is there anything he didn't tell you?"

She shrugged, "Not really. What? It isn't like I was going to find out when I was initiated. He thought the whole 'no girls' thing was stupid anyway." She paused, "Are you sure you don't want an ambulance? I mean, I feel really awful about not calling one. You're hurt and-"

He chuckled slightly, "What are the doctors going to do for me, huh? Wrap a bandage around my head and tell me I'll never see again? I can do that for myself. Listen, we have to think very differently now. I don't blame you for not thinking of it. You're a civilian, or you have been. You're not anymore. Look, hospitals are dangerous. They're exposed territory, full of innocent targets. In one, Abaddon could find me. If she found me, that would put you and John in danger. I won't risk that. Until we know more, we have to assume she wants us all."

Millie nodded, "Okay. If that's true, we have to get out of here. Like I said, we should be safe in the bunker. You work there, right? You have the key?"

He looked down, almost apologetically, "No."

She moved, almost jumping out of her chair, "What?"

"I couldn't risk Abaddon getting her hands on it. Henry came in a few minutes into the attack. I gave it to him and told him to get out of there."

If this had been a movie she felt she might have fainted, "Henry's alive?"

He shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe? I think so. If Abaddon had gotten the key, I think we would know about it by now."

She had stood up as he started to talk, and was now pacing a little, "Oh my God."

"I'm sorry, Millie. I should have told you before. I just-"

She turned back to face him, "No. No. It's okay. I understand. You have other things to think about. I know now, and that's all that matters."

"He's still missing," Larry pointed out.

She remained unmoved, "Missing is better than dead." She paused, "I'm going to check on John. You need to call your wife."

He looked confused, "My wife? Why?"

"Trust me, you do not want her to find out you're blind when you show up on her doorstep. Call her. Please."

He nodded, and Mille started up the stairs, still wondering how her life could have become hell in just a few hours.

John moaned a little as she drew off the covers, yawning and rubbing his eyes with his hands before blinking sleepily, "Momma? What are you doing up here? Is something wrong?"

She managed to force a tearful smile. If she could help it, John didn't need to know there was anything wrong, "No, sweetie. Everything's fine. Just go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

The four-year-old's eyelids were already drifting closed, "Okay…" said the sleepy voice.

Millie ran a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead. He was so young, so innocent still. As far as he was concerned, monsters were only a thing that lived in one's closet. In that moment she vowed he would never know any different. She sent up a silent prayer to God, asking him to keep her husband safe, wherever he might be.


	39. Chapter 39: A Painful Reminder

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait. I'm at my dad's for the holidays and he doesn't have wifi. Anyway… have a Christmas present. Feels for everyone! **ncsupnatfan** : Glad you enjoyed! Spoilers! ;) **Angeldonut** : Sorry! I didn't mean to let it go so long, the reasons are listed above.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

* * *

Chapter 39: A Painful Reminder

* * *

Sam walked the halls, opening doors, looking under furniture, desperately searching everywhere he thought a toddler could possibly hide. Dean walked behind him, like an annoying shadow that he couldn't shake. Finally Sam turned to him in frustration, "Dude. What are you doing?"

"I'm helping. Two sets of eyes is better than one, right?"

"Right. But, uh… Look, if he doesn't want to see you, then he's not going to show up. So… uh… why don't you… I don't know… Here, why don't you go guard the pool."

Dean looked confused, "The pool?"

"Yeah. We don't want to risk him falling in, after all."

The blond man shrugged, "Okay."

Sam stared after him as he walked off, a troubled expression on his face.

* * *

Little Dean lay in bed, desperately bored and wondering what was going on. He had considered getting up and tracking down one of the four other people in the house, but his head had started to spin as soon as he tried to get up and he thought better of it.

The door creaked open, and Sammy walked in, standing there watching him. Dean grinned, "Sammy!" He beckoned to him.

Sammy remained where he was. He didn't know how he felt about Dean right now, not after Dean had betrayed him like that. This one may have been younger, but it was still Dean. He still didn't care enouph about him to tell him the truth. Finally deciding this was not where he wanted to be, he turned around to walk back out.

Dean watched him leave, chest tightening with pain. Why had Sammy left him alone? His brother had never done that before. What had he done wrong? He turned over on the bed, trying to get in a better position to sleep. He sniffed a little. Sammy didn't seem to want him anymore.

* * *

1985

Normal, Illinois

A woman sat in her kitchen, eating dinner. The doorbell rang, and she rose to answer it with a sigh. She opened the door.

A man stood outside, "Hey. Are you Millicent Winchester?"

"Yeah. What is it?"

His eyes turned black and he smiled, "Oh, don't worry. Nothing you can't give me."

Realizing her mistake, Millie slammed the door and locked it, running further into the house in search of weapons. Black eyes meant demons, she was pretty sure. That meant… salt, holy water, iron, certain knives… maybe a few other things. She heard the door blast open and knew she had to move quickly. She could already hear the demon walking through the house.

Thinking of something, Millie ran into the kitchen, grabbing a knife and plunging it into the water boiling on the stove. The demon chuckled, "Really? You think that's going to save you? A pig sticker and some hot water?" Still moving backwards, the woman grabbed a container of salt, tossing it into the demon's eyes so that he fell down, screaming as though sprayed with Mace. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse, Millie poured the salt onto the wet knife, holding both ready as the demon stood back up, laughing, "I'm sorry, you're going to have to do better than that."

"Oh, don't worry." She ran forward with a yell, plunging the salt-coated weapon into the creature before making a break for the window. A moment later she found herself pinned against the wall.

The demon pulled out the knife, eyeing the glaring woman with a snarl, "You're going to pay for that."

"Christo."

He flinched in pain, eyes flashing black, "And that."

She spoke louder, "Christo."

More flinching, "Stop it."

"Christo!"

"Shut up!"

"CHRISTO!"

He slapped her, hard, turning her head to the side. She lifted it back up, looking him straight in the eyes as she spoke, softly this time, "Christo."

He smiled at her, "Well aren't you a determined one. That hurt. Don't worry, I just want some information. You cooperate, you won't get hurt. Well," he shrugged, "Not too much."

"Go to hell."

The demon smiled, "And who's going to send me there, hm? You? Why don't you just whip out an exorcism, pry me out of this meatsuit."

She breathed hard, staring at him as she tried to think.

"Don't worry, I'll wait." When nothing happened, he chuckled a little, "See, truth is, you don't know one. Truth is, you're not a hunter, or a legacy, or anything. You're just a scared little girl whose daddy went away."

"Yeah, well he took one of yours with him."

He grabbed a chair from the table, moving it to the center of the room, "Oh yeah, he sent that demon right back to hell. Management wasn't too happy with poor Ricky. You know, he's still burning?"

Millie smiled, "My heart breaks for him."

The demon drooped some coils of rope beside the chair, "Hm, yes, I'm sure it does. But you want to know the kicker? The best part of this whole big story? Your daddy? He got himself a pair of black eyes."

She stared at him in horror.

"Oh yeah, he broke quick."

"You're lying."

"You sure?" He held her gaze for a second, then turned back to his work, "But then, he's not the only one you lost, is he? Your mom, your dad, that sweet little hubby of yours. You know he was screwing that red-haired bitch."

"No."

He nodded slightly, "Yes. They were going to run off together. Or they would have, if Abaddon hadn't gotten her claws into Juliet."

Millie closed her eyes. Lies, they were all lies.

He stood up, looking around, "Hey, where's your son? Oh, wait, he's gone to, isn't he? Just disappeared, took off, not even a phone call? Well, ain't that something. Your whole family, just gone poof. Think it's something personal?"

"Shut. Up." She paused, a faint memory coming to her, "Ex… Excor…"

He walked toward her again, grinning, "Hey, look, maybe you can get yourself out of this. Come on, it's only forty-nine and a half more words." She stopped. That was all she knew. She couldn't remember any more. She had never tried to learn it. She had never had a reason.

The demon frowned, "Guess not." He released her from the wall and she ran for the window, only to be grabbed by the hair and dragged toward the chair. She let out a scream of shock and pain, and the demon shoved her in the chair, once again hitting her across the face, "Now, now, let's not have any of that. Don't want to scare the neighbors. After all, you don't want any civilians to come through that door, do you?" She stared in the direction he pointed, picturing innocent people coming in and getting torn to shreds by the monster in front of her.

He smiled, "That's what I thought. You hunter types, you're all alike. 'Saving People.' That's your job right? Heh. That's cute. So you'll keep quiet, for Joe the Plumber's sake." He paused, "Well, not to quiet. I do want you to talk after all." He tied her into the chair, then leaned over, resting his hands on the arms of the chair, "And when you get downstairs, I want you to give them a message. Tell them Crowley's building a faction. He wants to take out the top, trade in 'King of the Crossroads' for 'King of Hell.' And remind them that I'm the one who told you."

She glared up at him, "Tell them yourself."

He chuckled, "Now, I only want one little piece of information. Shouldn't be hard at all."

"Okay. I'm all ears."

"How do I find Cain?"

She stared, "You must be joking."

He pushed himself off the chair, "I want a spell. There's got to be a way to track it. The Mark or the Blade. Spell, now."

"I don't know about anything like that. Look, I haven't seen, or heard, or had anything to do with any of this supernatural stuff in almost thirty years-"

He interrupted, "Twenty-seven."

"Twenty-seven. Right. I don't know anything."

The demon sighed, "You're not going to make this easy, are you? Okay. Good. I was hoping to have some fun."


	40. My Brother and other Monsters

A/N: Hello everyone! I know it's been a long time since I have updated this one, and for that I am sorry. I have been struggling with writer's block for some time now and I fear my Supernatural fics fell by the wayside. I'm trying to start updating everything on an at least semi-regular basis. So here I am, back from the grave!

 **Ncsupnatfan** : Well, since you're the only one that reviewed in all this time you're the one that gets a response. I'm glad you've been enjoying this fic, I really am. I appreciate all of your feedback so very much. Thank you for sticking with me, and I hope you read this soon.

Sincerely,

Dr. Emma Hamish Winchester

I do not own Supernatural or its characters

* * *

Chapter 40

* * *

Sam searched everywhere he could think of, growing increasingly worried as he continued to find no sign of the missing toddler. Some parts of the bunker were dangerous, and they still hadn't even managed to explore it all. Dean liked to joke about it being the TARDIS. He idly wondered what would happen to him if his younger self was killed. Would he simply disappear and cease to exist? Would he feel the same pain the other him was experiencing? Would Dean even remember him? He had to find Sammy. Unfortunately, he had been searching for hours, and he was starting to lose hope.

Finally he heard a faint crying sound. Following it, he found himself in yet another of the multitude of storage rooms that filled the bunker. He kept walking, moving around a set of shelves, and sighed in relief as his gaze fell on a toddler, curled up on the floor sobbing.

The man knelt, "Hey."

Sammy curled tighter into himself. Clearly he wanted to be left alone.

Sam watched him sadly. Given what the child had seen, he didn't blame him. And those dreams had always been a freaky trip anyway. "Hey, uh, you want to get out of here?" The concrete floor couldn't have been comfortable.

There was no response.

"You wanna go see Dean?"

There was a pause as Sammy quieted slightly, then a tearful voice, "No. Go 'way."

The man smiled, "What's wrong? Come on, you don't want Dean?"

"Dee hurt me."

The big man looked apologetic, "Yeah I know. I'm sorry. But look, you gotta understand, that wasn't Dean- not… real Dean. The real Dean would never hurt you. Ever."

Sammy tried to think how to make Sam understand. He wasn't upset about the torture. That Dean wasn't real, he knew that. He was in a dream. Nothing was ever good in his dreams. Besides, he had seemed really angry about something, and was somehow being controlled by the scary man with the wings. "No. Dee _hurt_ me." Sammy's eyes started to tear up with frustration. His vocabulary was too limited for this.

The adult clearly still didn't understand, "Look, that wasn't Dean. Lucifer came up with all kinds of stuff. Dean in Hell torturing me was just one of them. It didn't have anything to do with how he actually feels, I promise."

"No. Not Lu'fer. _Dee._ "

Sam looked confused, "What?"

Sammy tried to think, then broke down in tears. He couldn't do it. He couldn't make Sam understand. Dean had lied to him. He didn't know exactly what about yet, but it had happened.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Sam sat down, leaning against a set of shelves, and pulled the toddler onto his lap. Sammy didn't seem capable of making himself understood, but the least the man could do was stay here and comfort him.

* * *

Raphael stood in an abandoned warehouse in Dallas, eagerly awaiting the Vessels' arrival, despite his confusion over his soldiers' delays. How difficult could it really be to locate two young, unwarded human children? His vessel, specially procured to personally oversee the work, had a limited duration, and he needed to return it to its life before it burned out from containing him.

A voice behind him attracted his attention, "Brother, what are you doing?"

"Michael." Slowly, he turned around to face his brother; as he did so allowing his blade to creep a little down his arm, ready to drop into his hand at a moment's notice. Slowly, instinctively, the pair started to circle.

"I am merely doing what you were too weak to do. Paradise is in peril. The stray elements must be secured."

Michael stared him down, growing commanding in his voice and manner, "I already ordered you to leave the vessels alone."

"But if Lucifer-"

"If Lucifer procures his vessel before I do then it will be an unfortunate setback, and we will remedy it. This is your last warning. Stand down."

Michael had stopped circling as he spoke, and now stood at the ready, relaxed yet intimidating, every muscle ready to spring into action.

Raphael spoke. "Take care, brother, or I will rise up and tear down all that you have built, and I shall rule Heaven in your stead."

Michael smiled, "Very well, and what will happen to me in this new world of yours? You cannot kill me; you desire Paradise, and you need me to attain it."

"Kill you? Oh no. I would lock you up, my sweet, sentimental attack dog, to be released when the time is right." He smiled, "You always were a pathetic weakling."

In a flash Michael was behind him, holding the archangel close to his chest with his blade against his throat. He rasped threateningly into Raphael's ear, "I may be 'sentimental,' but do not for one second mistake that for weakness."

Raphael gave a conciliatory smile, "Surely… we can talk about this… Don't you think…" He cried out as the other Archangel's blade stabbed his shoulder, then Michael shoved him and he stumbled away, clutching the injury, trying to stem the tide of blood and grace that leaked from the hole.

A furious sneer marred Michael's face, "Go. Leave the vessel and return to Heaven while I fix the mess you have made. We shall discuss this later."

Like a whipped dog Raphael disappeared, thoroughly and completely chastened. Michael had won this round.


End file.
